The Silver Lining
by Decimk
Summary: Everyone seemed incomprehensibly eager to have the rebel mages close the Breach. Never mind that it made her a funnel in some magical experiment, one they didn't know would even work. No, much better if they found the templars instead - for herself and for Myca. Yet it was only the suspicious commander who shared this view. Suddenly, she had a reason to get on his good side.
1. His Circumstances

**Canon-friendly re-imagining of templar-sided DA:I. POV Cullen and Elsa Trevelyan — a noble girl with a secret, who is more familiar with the Game than with combat. Gradual build with much character development, fleshing out of game events, and between-the-scenes detail. ****Bit of a slow start for the first few chapters, but I promise it's not a simple retelling of game cutscenes and dialogue.**

**Note about content: nothing explicit, but some in-canon violence, swearing and mild sexual content. NSFW chapters are flagged in a note like this.**

**Thanks for checking out this story, I hope you enjoy it! **

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Haven — a sleepy town of frozen pathways and rundown cabins with eternally snow-covered roofs. Through the ages it existed in obscurity... the best-kept secret in the Frostback Mountains, unimportant and unknown to all but a select few. While recent years had seen it transform into a resting stop for pilgrims visiting the Temple of Sacred Ashes, never before had it been the hub of activity it was today. As the location for peace talks in the mage-templar war and home to the newly formed Inquisition, it had received more foot traffic in the past weeks than it had seen in the last decade combined. Yet even that surge of activity was nothing compared to recent events.

Cullen stared at his reflection. It was but a distorted blur, a warped phantom of a man between the scorch marks and dents in the surface of his shield. Darkness lined the misshapen eyes looking back at him, and the beginnings of a bruise decorated his collar bone. He traced his torso with his hands, checking his other injuries. Though he wore gloves at all times, his fingers were cracked and dry from the cold, rough against his skin as he touched the scar on his lip. It had been a nasty cut — a fitting parting gift from Kirkwall. Fortunately it seemed to have healed properly, despite a lack of proper medical attention. He brushed past his jaw, noticing the length of his stubble. It was longer than he usually kept it. How long had it been since he last shaved?

Three days… was that really all? It felt like an eternity. He closed his eyes and thought back through the flurry of memories that had crammed itself into his mind. It was little more than a week since their ship had landed in Ferelden. The Conclave had already started by the time they arrived in Haven — the doors to the temple had been shut, not to be opened again until a solution was found to the conflict. To their dismay, it had excluded both the Divine's Left and Right Hand from the proceedings.

Cullen had thrown himself onto the work awaiting him — getting to know the officers under his command, establishing rotas, managing inventory and scheduling training sessions. He'd been fortunate to have Rylen as his second, one of the few templars to have joined him from Kirkwall. The man had proven himself more than capable in the aftermath of Kirkwall's destruction, as well as a much needed ally. By now he was familiar with how Cullen preferred to have his ranks organised, saving them both time and effort in establishing a semblance of order to the band of volunteers that made up the fledgling Inquisition. Their work had started off relatively easy — in its current state, the army was no larger than the Kirkwall Order had been. That moment of relative peace, however, could only last for so long.

It was late in the evening. Cullen was on his way to check with Lady Cassandra in the Chantry, his mind focused on the report in his hand. A deafening blast shook the heavens without warning, causing him and anyone else about to be thrown to the ground. A hot flash followed, a searing gale littered with sparks that tore on the buildings, sent items hurtling through the air, and ignited fires in bales of hay and tufts of grass. People screamed, scrambling on hands and knees to find cover. Cullen pushed himself up and turned to look at the source, lifting an arm above his eyes to shield them from the blinding light. A ripple pulled through his spine as the Veil collapsed and a torrent of flames pelted up towards the sky, opening a flaming chasm in the night. Emerald bolts began to rain down upon the mountain, gleaming in the dark… the temple had been wiped from view.

He got to his feet and ran outside the walls. More people were beginning to gather there, their faces frozen in looks of horror and disbelief. Varric appeared next to him a moment later, crossbow in hand.

"Oh no… Not again."

It was one of the rare occasions where Cullen was of one mind with the dwarf.

Time had lost all meaning since then. No one knew what had happened at first. The only thing that was clear were the shades and ghouls that started to find their way down the mountain. They appeared to emanate from the Breach — as the fracture in the sky would soon be named — or from newly sprouting cracks in the Veil. Cullen rallied what troops he had. His small band of templars, a loyal few who had followed Rylen's example, formed the core of his resistance team. Little by little, they managed to take the mountain path, setting up barricades and roadblocks along the way to keep the monsters from swarming into the village. He spent most of his time at the front himself, fighting his hardest while keeping an eye on his men. The stress of the situation could easily overwhelm anyone, let alone the volunteers who had never seen a demon before. While he tried to provide anyone who seemed close to breaking with rest, such small moments of relief soon became difficult to supply.

Deep into the night, after several hours of gruelling combat, they finally managed to gain a foothold in the temple… or what was left of it. What he imagined was once an awe-inspiring structure had been reduced to nothing more than rubble and ash. The dead lay scattered across the ground, growing in numbers as they pushed their way in. Once they entered what used to be the vestibule, it only got worse. Bodies, locked in screams of terror, their skins even parts shining red and scorched black. As quick as the explosion had happened, their deaths did not seem painless in the least. Cullen stepped over something shrivelled and smoking, trying his best not to think about what it used to be, when a shout called his attention to further ahead.

"Commander!" One of the Nightingale's scouts stood on top of a broken wall, pointing to something beyond. "We found a survivor!"

Alarm bells went off in his head. The scout had come from the grand hall, the very spot where the energy torrent connected to the Breach, the centre of the explosion. If anyone was alive in there, how could they not be involved in its ignition? He climbed up to where the scout was waiting for him, stepping carefully to avoid loose rocks as he made his way across the rubble.

"Who is it?"

He squinted into the distance. Below the Breach, a pulsing shape somewhere between crystal and crumpled paper hung suspended in the air. Several more scouts stood below it, surrounding a lone person lying on the floor with their weapons drawn at the lifeless figure.

"I don't know, Commander. A woman. A rift opened and she stepped out or… fell is perhaps more accurate. She's lost consciousness."

The scout paused and Cullen tore his gaze from the mysterious survivor to look at her. She was staring hard in the distance, then glanced at him. "Is there something else?" he asked impatiently.

She fidgeted a moment longer, then made up her mind. "Some say they saw another woman behind her before the rift closed again. I can't be sure… but I believe I did as well."

Cullen signalled to Rylen, who began to set up a defensive perimeter below, then gestured to the scout to show him the way down. He followed her, turning her words over in his mind. Another woman? How many women could come out of the Fade in a single day? "What did this other woman look like?"

"It's… hard to say, Commander. She was only there for a moment." She nimbly slid down the remains of a large statue that now lay at an angle against the wall. Once on the ground, she paused and glanced over to where the survivor lay. "Some of the others say it was Andraste behind her, ser."

Cullen did not bother to suppress a scoff. He landed heavily on his feet in a manner less agile than the scout had. "Wouldn't that be great?"

The people standing around the lone woman eyed him nervously at his approach. Despite their pointed weapons, they kept their distance. Clearly, none of them wished to get any closer.

"Look, ser." The scout's voice was hushed, as if she were scared of waking the woman. "She's got a glowing scar on her hand. It seems to respond to the Breach."

Cullen pushed away his own nerves at the sight of the survivor and knelt beside her. She was lying face down, wearing unremarkable traveller's clothes that were dusty and stained. Her hair was ashen coloured and although it had mostly come undone, it had been neatly braided at some point. He grabbed the woman's shoulder and turned her over. She was fair-skinned, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Her right hand landed next to his boot and he took her wrist to lift it up. The fingers were soft and delicate with groomed nails — not someone from the working class. The only sign of calluses were on the middle and index finger, suggesting she was no stranger to handling a bow.

He was more reluctant to touch her left hand. It lay folded open on her other side, crackling with every surge from the Breach above them. It was no magic he had ever seen before. Whatever it was, there was no doubt in his mind that it was of the same source as the explosion.

Someone of high standing, perhaps nobility, with an interest in hunting. Not what you'd expect to fall out of the Fade, nor perhaps what would be the cause of such destruction… but what other explanation was there? Of all people in the temple, why would only she have survived? Though he had little doubt in his mind of her involvement, he was careful not to say so out loud. If he had learned anything from Kirkwall, it was that fear could lead to terrible consequences. No, people would draw their conclusions soon enough without him declaring her guilt. More important was getting her out of here so they could get answers, rather than anyone taking justice in their own hands in a fit of rage.

The scout had inched closer as he examined the woman. Now she was looking over his shoulder at the mysterious woman in front of them. "What should we do, ser?"

"Go down to inform the Hands," he said sternly. "I will take her out. Assuming she lives, we need her to talk."

The woman's breath was laboured as he pushed one arm under her torso and another under her knees. He lifted her, staggering slightly under her weight. She was quite tall, and heavier than he'd anticipated based on the delicacy of her features. He carefully found a way through the debris and carried her out, watching her face contort with pain at every pulse that pulled through the Veil.

_Don't you dare die right now_, he thought grimly. _You will answer for what you've done, or I'll hunt you down in the Fade myself._

Another rift cracked open behind him the moment he stepped out of the temple's remains, where two soldiers met him with a stretcher. He placed her on it, casting her one last look before he turned back and rejoined the fighting.

It had been three days since then. Seventy-two hours of combat, screaming, demons… complete and utter madness up until this moment, where he found himself standing in his tent with the evidence of it all building up on his body and taking a toll on his mind. Over time, he'd seen more of his men fall to the monsters. The sense of dread in the air increased with each passing hour, as did his resentment towards the prisoner that had stumbled out of the rift. He rubbed his eyes. At most, he'd been able to catch an hour of rest. The woman, on the other hand, had apparently been fast asleep since they'd found her… it did nothing to improve his opinion of her.

He began to put his armour back on. While it was still in better shape than he was, it too carried plenty of marks from the battle. As he strapped one of the bracers to his forearm, he noticed a long gash in the metal. A claw mark, rage demon's most likely, cutting across the templar insignia embossed along its length. He scowled at it, his mood further souring rapidly. The set was new, a purchase he'd made shortly after his decision to leave the Order — it had been the first time he'd ever spent such coin on something for himself. Though he tended to keep a practical mindset regarding his equipment, it didn't lessen the sting of seeing it damaged so shortly after acquiring it.

Rylen stuck his head inside the tent as Cullen fastened his belt. "Word from the Left," he said, speaking quickly. "Right Hand is bringing the prisoner up. Also, another rift has opened. It's a big one."

"Location?"

"Antechamber. We're holding them back for now, but we won't be able to should another one open."

"Get everyone still able to hold a sword." Cullen grabbed his own and sheathed it. "We need to hold our position until Lady Cassandra arrives, no matter what."

"The team is requesting more lyrium. Permission to comply?"

Cullen paused a moment. "Limited doses, Rylen. It won't be long now."

"How about you?"

"… No. Save it for the men."

Rylen nodded and disappeared from view.

The templars had dipped into the supply more regularly as time ticked by, opting for the artificial boost of the philter when rest was a luxury they could not afford. He hadn't wanted them to, but standing on principle had not been an option. He had resisted the urge himself, his resolve only a few weeks old and fresh enough still. The hardest part had been to notice a weakening of his divine skills. He hadn't anticipated this when he decided to quit… Could he really continue to refuse, if this was going to remain their situation?

Cullen took a deep breath and headed out, where he took inventory of the situation. The rift Rylen spoke of loomed ahead, spawning a slew of monsters. Any plans Cullen tried to form in the last days had hinged on them finding a way to close these tears. He didn't know who to trust less — the woman with the mark, or the apostate who had shown up and theorised the mark might be able to do just that. As twisted luck would have it, these two were currently their only hope of saving them from complete destruction. If they should fail…

He joined the fray, flicking the familiar switch in his mind that kept such thoughts at bay. Gone was the doubt, replaced by a primal intuition that directed his moves. He found himself face to face with a ghoul and shifted into a defensive stance to assess its moves. The creature drifted to the right, preparing a lunge towards his left. Cullen waited until the last moment to bait it into attacking, then stepped round to dodge and strike it from behind. He quickly raised his shield to deflect the incoming fire, then finished it off with a quick sweep across. A rushing from behind signalled the incoming charge of a wraith. He ducked away, feeling the blast stir his hair, and spun around to engage it. He closed the distance within a few strides, dodging another hit, and vanquished the creature in an upwards slash.

There was no end in sight… The moment they cut them down, new ones clawed their way out of the rifts in an instant. Cullen pulled his sword from a rage demon's chest, pushing with his foot to dislodge the blade from its broken body. His breath was heavy, his eyes stinging as he looked around and wiped his brow. Some distance away from him, one of his soldiers faltered and fell. Instinct took over and Cullen dashed across the field, planting himself between the boy and the advancing demon. The creature smashed into his shield, grabbing and scratching with its claws. It pushed and pushed, its flaming eyes inches away from his face, getting closer as his muscles burned from the effort of keeping it at bay.

A faint whistle, lost within the chaos, was all that signalled his salvation. The arrow flew past his face, close enough for the fletching to graze his cheek, and struck the demon between the eyes. Everything froze for a long moment, until an ear-splitting shriek forced his eyes shut. The pressure on his shield fell away when the demon threw itself backwards, clawing at the projectile lodged in its skull. Cullen stumbled to regain his footing, then made his move. Two quick steps forward and one strike later, the creature slumped to the ground like the others had done before it. He spun around the moment he was free of it, searching for the marksman.

She sat knelt down atop the broken wall, silver hair flowing over her shoulder and already aiming another arrow. It shot through the air and found its target, effectively dispatching another demon down the field. Cassandra appeared as well through the broken arch below, her apostate and Varric in tow. One more push, Maker willing… A quick prayer flashed through his mind and Cullen shifted his focus to the battle once more, willing himself to hold out just a bit longer.

Finally, for the first time in days, a rift disappeared instead of opened.

Lady Cassandra stood several paces away, staring at the spot where the rift had been. He saw her breathe a sigh of relief at the same time that he did. She'd been in and out of the front lines herself, rushing back down whenever there seemed to be a change in the prisoner. While she generally adopted a stern demeanour, she'd been considerably worse without sleep and under stress. He was relieved to see that even she looked slightly more hopeful now. "Lady Cassandra," he greeted her, "You managed to close the rift. Well done."

"Do not congratulate me, Commander," she replied, rolling her shoulder. "This is the prisoner's doing." She gestured towards the woman standing further away with Varric. To his surprise, the look on her face was uncharacteristically soft when she did.

"The mark works then?"

"It works on the small rifts, at least. We will see if it works on the Breach."

"Has she said anything?" he inquired, his own distrust rising at the sight of the stranger. "Is she behind this?"

"If she was, I doubt she would admit it, Commander," the Seeker said drily. "But I doubt that she is. She has been quite willing to help and seems as confused by what has happened as the rest of us."

"And you believe her?" he scoffed.

She arched one of her sharp brows. "I am allowing the possibility. She is helping us — it is all that matters for the moment."

Cullen glanced at the prisoner. Much as he wanted to believe the Seeker's judgement, her readiness to trust the stranger only made him more wary of her. A bruise was forming on the side of her face, her hair was completely undone, and her clothes were even dirtier than when they found her. Yet despite her dishevelled appearance, there was something about her stance, her features, and the way she carried herself that made her appear… the only word that came to mind was 'regal'.

She looked away from Varric, raising her chin to lock eyes with him instead. Hers were almond shaped and grey, matching the ashen colour of her hair. They rapidly flit across his face and down his body as she sized him up, making him feel oddly exposed despite his layers of clothing and armour. She came closer, eyeing him with curiosity, but looked to Cassandra as she came to stand beside them. It took him a moment to realise she was waiting for the Seeker to facilitate an introduction.

"Commander," Cassandra said after a moment, motioning towards her. "Meet Elsa."

The woman graciously inclined her head, but didn't yet speak. Instead she continued to observe him with a polite smile, seemingly oblivious to the destruction around them, and waited for him to speak first.

"… I hope they're right about you," he said, "We've lost a lot of people getting you here."

He wanted to smack himself over the head, but resisted the urge. The Seeker's words had caught him off guard, making his own come across harsher than he'd intended. Whatever reason she had for trusting her, the fact that she was on a first name basis with the prisoner unnerved him.

"I will do my best not to let their sacrifice be in vain, Commander…?"

Her voice was deeper than he had expected and cultured, without any discernible accent. It went up a note at the end of her sentence. She kept her eyebrows slightly raised, expecting him to introduce himself. Her eyes were no longer moving. Instead, they were completely focused on his, holding them in her gaze. He swallowed, then answered in spite of himself.

"… Cullen."

She inclined her head a fraction, then turned back towards Cassandra. "We should continue, should we not?"

The Seeker nodded in response and looked towards their target. The Breach loomed overhead, continuously tugging on the Veil. Cullen felt the familiar rushing in his veins from whenever magic manifested itself… More rifts would appear soon if the disruption was not stabilised.

"The way to the temple should be clear," he told the Seeker. "Leliana will try to meet you there."

"Then we'd best move quickly. Give us time, Commander."

"Maker watch over you." He cast one more look at the ashen-haired woman. "For all our sakes."

"And you, Commander," she said softly. Then she was gone, following the Seeker deeper into the temple.

He watched them disappear before he turned back himself. The soldiers, battered and bruised, struggled to their feet around him and began to limp towards the camp. Cullen pulled one boy's arm over his shoulder to steady him. As he walked away from the battlefield, he found that his mind remained with the prisoner… and the way the light had shimmered in those misty eyes. A familiar sensation stirred in his chest, a delicate flutter as unsettling as it was unwelcome. He masked the groan that escaped him by hoisting the young man higher up his shoulder.

_Maker's breath… this is so inconvenient._

o - o - o

It was another three days later when he saw her next. In that time, public opinion of her had rapidly changed. It disturbed him how quickly the prisoner, whose fate had seemed doomed as he carried her out of the rubble, had turned her situation around. Rather than being hated, she was now regarded with awe. Not only that, his colleagues seemed positively enamoured with the survivor from the rift.

"It is most fortunate that she is a Trevelyan." Josephine was practically bouncing with joy as she checked something on her clipboard. Cullen saw her with it so often, it might as well have been permanently sewn to her hand. "They are a large family with many connections. If we can rally them behind us, it will give the Inquisition that much more standing."

"Don't get too excited yet, Josie. While she is a Trevelyan, I have found surprisingly little information on her. Let's not count our ravens before they have hatched."

"What did you find?" Cullen asked the Spymaster.

"Nothing that stands out particularly…" she murmured, "She is the fifth of six children and only daughter born to Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick. There was another girl, but she died young. Many of her brothers are templars, while she is active in the local Chantry and community. There is talk of an engagement to an Antivan lord, but nothing official. By all accounts, she seems perfectly normal. I would just expect there to be more details about her, given her position. For many years, it is like she did not exist at all. Even now her public appearances seem to be rare."

"That is something you should look into then."

Leliana let out a soft sing-song laugh. "Do you think she uses her time off from tending to the poor to hang out with maleficar and plan explosions, Commander? I have talked with the girl, it seems most unlikely. But I will continue to look into it, to ease your mind."

Her mouth twisted into a teasing smirk. He rolled his eyes in return, when the door opened. The prisoner entered behind Cassandra, no longer wearing the raggedy outfit from before. Instead she was equipped with a sensible light armour, sporting a blue leather hunting coat. Her hair was shining and pulled up into a casual bun, with several loose waves that framed her face.

The Seeker did not waste any time. "You've met Commander Cullen," she told the woman. "Leader of the Inquisition's forces."

The eyes focused on him… and he swallowed. They had always been his weakness. First there had been the deep greens of Solona Amell. Later it had been no different with the steely blues of Marian Hawke. As different as they were in disposition, it had not been surprising to find out the two were related. When either had looked at him with those eyes, it had severely impacted his ability to speak or even to form a proper sentence in his head. Though age and experience had helped in lessening that effect, it didn't make him less uncomfortable now that he was being probed by the ones before him.

"It was only for a moment on the field." Thank the Maker… he didn't stutter. "I am pleased you survived."

"That makes two of us…" Her smile was gentle and inviting. Now that she was free from grime, he noticed she was younger than he'd initially thought. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, adding to the perfection of her features. She had to be in her mid-twenties, or perhaps even younger, yet she had the air of someone more mature than that. "Pardon me," she continued, shaking him from his reveries, "but would you be the former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall?"

He blinked. "Yes… I was. I left the Order to join the Inquisition."

"I see. Please forgive my curiosity. Ostwick is not far from Kirkwall, so we have heard stories of course. It must have been a very challenging assignment, restoring order after that terrible tragedy."

"It… was. Yes."

He hoped his face did not show his surprise. There had been talk of him in other cities? He'd never given much thought to the possibility, though it seemed obvious now that he thought about it. He used to hear news of happenings in other Circles, none of which nearly as tragic as what went down in Kirkwall. What had she heard, exactly?

She gave a short nod in response. Then the eyes released him, following Cassandra's gesture towards Josephine.

"I believe our families have some connection, Lady Montilyet. Through some of my cousins, if I am not mistaken?"

Her voice continued to be perfectly cultured. It was a warm sound, smooth like velvet. Yet there was something about the lack of accent that made it sound… impersonal? Did he just want to think that?

"Indeed, they do!" Josephine's ruffles bounced with her excitement. "I was just saying before, My Lady, it would be so helpful if we could count on connections like these to give the Inquisition a proper start."

"I could not agree more, Josephine. We should sit together soon to see what support we can gather. But please, call me Elsa."

The ambassador beamed at the survivor, who gently smiled back. Cullen felt his guard assert itself once more. He had not gotten to a point of dropping titles with his colleagues, for good reason. It was not something he'd expected to feel awkward about, yet somehow the survivor had managed just that. What was she playing at?

The focus shifted to Leliana and eventually to the topic at hand. Cullen sighed as the spymaster once again brought her suggestion of approaching the rebel mages to the table — as if it was the only solution to their problem. He'd lost count of how often they had repeated the same discussion since the Breach had stabilised. They each went through their opinions again, though without much vigour. Neither option was ideal, nor easily in reach. As long as no-one changed their mind, it was unlikely they'd reach a decision this time around.

"If I might interject…"

All eyes turned to the silver-haired girl.

"I do not wish to push my opinion where it is not wanted," she said calmly, "but since I will be trying to close the Breach, I would like to share my view. I would agree with Commander Cullen. A tear in the Veil is dangerous enough as it is. It would seem the safer route, for myself and those around, is to enlist the aid of the Order."

A silence fell as they stared at her. Cullen felt his head angle to the side as he observed her, while she continued to quietly gaze at the people in the room, undaunted by their scrutiny.

"Unfortunately," Josephine replied, glancing at the others, "neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition, and you specifically."

"Do they still believe me guilty?" Her neatly trimmed eyebrows pulled down ever so slightly.

"That is not the entirety of it any longer. Some are calling you the 'Herald of Andraste'. That frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harbouring you."

"I see… That is quite a risk you are taking on my account."

She quieted, frowning in earnest. Her expression did not change as they informed her of the developments since she tried to close the Breach and she nodded pensively when Cassandra explained her of the identity people had attributed to the woman seen behind her in the rift.

"It's quite the title, isn't it?" Cullen asked, carefully watching for her response. "How do you feel about that?"

She raised her head and thought a moment. "I am reluctant to embrace it, and indeed would be wary of anyone who would accept a name like that too readily," she said slowly. "But I do prefer it over 'mass murderer'."

He huffed a laugh in spite of himself. It was becoming clear how this girl had managed to gain sympathy so quickly among his peers. Her manners were perfect, her words carefully chosen. She delivered them with the right mix of warmth, care, and humour. Yet when she smiled at him, he couldn't help but think the gesture didn't quite reach her eyes. Whether it was because of their colour or something else, he couldn't tell, but there was something subdued about them. Unfortunately for him, it didn't make them any less hypnotising.

The meeting came to a close and Cullen quickly made his way back to camp. There were still mountains of work ahead, evidenced by Rylen handing him a stack of reports the moment he reached the training grounds. He flipped through them — new volunteers, lists of donated supplies, another of soldiers who had succumbed to their injuries and whose families would need to be informed, and a selection of other matters. He was relieved to see one of the documents was a pledge of allegiance from a group of templars that had been stationed in the Hinterlands. Though the volunteers had been training non-stop since the Breach had stabilised, most were farmhands or the sons of bakers and blacksmiths. It would take weeks for them to resemble anything like proper warriors. It would make all the difference to bolster his ranks with some seasoned officers — the more templars he had with the Breach still in the sky, the sounder he would sleep at night.

He handed Rylen back the documents and turned his attention to the recruits training around him. One of the men dropped his guard and stared at something off to the side. A moment later he was holding his nose, trying to stop the bleeding after getting hit in the face by his sparring partner.

"You there!" Cullen called, "There's a shield in your hand, block with it! If this man were your enemy, you'd be dead!"

His attention was drawn behind the man, to what had distracted him in the first place. The girl — the Herald, as people now called her — was standing some distance away. The loose strands of her hair drifted in the breeze, no longer ashen in the light of the sun but more akin to liquid silver. Her eyes swept the camp, surveying the training soldiers as if assessing the wares at a market. She looked up, met his gaze briefly, and greeted him with a slight inclination of her head. Then she turned and walked back towards the village.

_Who are you, Elsa Trevelyan?_


	2. Her Circumstances

_Where am I?_

It was dark, she didn't need to open her eyes to see that. Cold too, in a way that had seeped into her body and settled in her bones. She'd been here for some time. Hours? No, her muscles were too stiff, her side on which she was laying ached. It must have been days.

_How long?_

A dripping sound could be heard not far from where she was, splashes collecting in a pool on the hard floor. She felt around her, noticing her hands were bound in front of her.

_Damp floor, cold stone. Somewhere underground probably… Am I still in the temple or not? A prison?_

A sharp sting emanated from her hand, shooting through her cramped arm like a lightning bolt. She hissed at the pain, before noticing the uncomfortable stirring in her gut.

_Disturbances in the Veil? Magic… Wonderful._

The chafing of plating over leather reverberated against the damp walls as sets of heavy footsteps approached. Three, maybe four men. A metal gate opened with a loud clang. One of the soldiers grabbed her angrily, his fingers digging into her upper arm. She was pulled up and dragged along, before unceremoniously flung back onto the floor. Swords unsheathed and silence resumed, save for the slow _drip-drip_ in the corner of the room. Elsa opened her eyes. Four blades it was, all pointing in her direction. The soldiers stared daggers at her, their eyes discoloured by the strange green glow that lit up the damp room.

She bit back a groan when another surge of pain pulsed through her arm. Her knees were stinging, her muscles aching, and a dull pain lingered from where the soldier had grabbed her. Yet all of that was dwarfed by the burning sensation. She squinted at it. To her dismay the cause of it, as well as the source of the eerie light, was the palm of her left hand.

_What the… Shit. I'm in trouble._

Clearly she had been brought from her cell for a reason and the men surrounding her kept glancing at the door. Whomever was about to come through it, there was no doubt in her mind that she'd better have a story ready for them. What had happened? She rapidly sped through her mind, recalling everything from the moment she left home.

_Midnight, how many days ago? Waited for the servants to retire. Took Rona from the stables, boarded a ship at dawn. It was easier than I expected…_

_Journey across the sea, wondering when they would notice. Perhaps it was a bad idea to take it… How long would it take for them now to figure out where I've gone?_

_That famous Fereldan weather on arrival — nothing but rain. Rented a horse from a local stable, stayed in roadside taverns on the way to Haven. Fortunately no-one asked any questions._

_Arrived in the village. The Inquisition was there, a movement brought to life should the Conclave fail, or so the blacksmith said. Had it? Are they my captors?_

_I went to bury it first, just to be safe. Then up to the temple. Scanned the rows of people for Myca… So many faces, but his wasn't there._

_The Conclave started. Old men and women bickering for hours, ceremony over substance. The Lord Seeker wasn't there, nor was the leader of the mage rebellion. Of course… uproot everything and hide away while others try to fix it. I searched the hall while everyone else was focused on the discussion at the altar. Still nothing._

_Went to a different area. There was a door… I pushed it open to find… Pushed it open… to find…_

Everything seemed to freeze. There was nothing. Emptiness… a void. Her mind objected loudly to the realisation.

_It can't be. Think harder._

She tried and tried to the point that it hurt, but she could not remember. The door was there, relatively new and probably placed in there when the temple was restored after its rediscovery ten years ago. A spiral pattern carved into the wood all around, depictions of the Threnodies in the centre, sculptures lining the stone frame. She had pushed it open, but after that… her memory was blank.

The door burst open and two women came in, one scowling at her like she had personally tied Andraste to the pyre, the other eyeing her with a careful curiosity.

_Seasoned warrior, symbol of the Seekers. The other is hardly audible next to the racket of the first. Delicate, hooded… probably a rogue._

The face of the first was striking… and very familiar.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now."

_Might want to tell me why you want to first, Nevarran._

"The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead. Except for you."

The information shot through her mind like lightning. _Everyone is dead. Everyone is dead? Only one survivor, guilty by default… Myca? Was he there? Don't focus on that… you need to get out of here._

"I… I am sorry," she said timidly, glancing between the two women. "I do not recall what happened. All those people…?"

The warrior grabbed her hand and yanked it up. "Explain this!"

The thing crackled with energy. Elsa cursed it silently. She hated not having a good answer. "I cannot," she admitted with a wistful shake of her head. Weak, but if this woman was who she thought she was, honesty might be the best way to go for the moment.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I do not remember what happened. Please, I would tell you if I knew."

The woman seized her by her shoulders. "You're lying!"

Her body froze momentarily under the warrior's aggressive touch. She pushed away the remnants of memories that it sent echoing through her mind, then fixed the woman with her eyes. "I am not," she said, letting go of the weaker tone she'd kept up before. "And I would hope a Seeker does not jump to conclusions when talking to a suspect, Lady Pentaghast."

The glint that pulled across her eyes let Elsa know she had correctly identified the woman. Furthermore, the fact that she had, had caught her off guard. Her grip relaxed. "You know who I am?"

"I do. My name is Elsa of House Trevelyan. I remember your face from when you accompanied the Most Holy on her visit to the city of Ostwick in 9.36."

"House Trevelyan?" Her accent confirmed that the other woman in the room was Sister Nightingale then, the other Hand of the Divine. She angled her head, regarding their prisoner through narrowed eyes. "Your family has strong ties to the Chantry. Many of them attended the Conclave, did they not?"

"None of my direct family, but yes, several more distant members were scheduled to be there." Elsa paused, feigning sadness before softening her voice. "If what you say is true, I can only assume that they have perished with all of the others. Please… I understand you want answers and I want to help, but I don't even know what happened."

Cassandra let go of her and got up, exchanging a glance with her colleague.

"Do you remember anything?" Leliana asked.

Elsa tried again, but the gap in her memory was still as present as before. She strained her mind to draw any information from it, but all that surfaced was an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. A tightening of the chest as if she'd been running. A glowing hand that reached out to her, and… thousands of eyes, staring at her from the dark. She shook her head and tried to explain the images to the women standing over her but, unsurprisingly, neither looked convinced.

_Can't really blame you for that._

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana," Cassandra said. "I'll take her to the rift."

o - o - o

Elsa blinked against the daylight and wondered for a moment if her vision had been screwed up by her time in the cell. There was a green tint to everything she saw out here as well, strange and otherworldly. Its source became clear as soon as her eyes got used to doing their job again.

A rip in the sky, bellowing fire and crackling with electricity. She felt a dull swirl in her stomach, but pushed the feeling down and locked it away.

"A tear in the Veil?"

Cassandra stared at the gaping hole. "Yes. We call it 'the Breach'. It is not the only one. Just the largest and it is expanding by the second. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave."

"I did not think that was possible…"

Elsa let her eyes drift over the heavens. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen. If her brothers could see this from where they were, they would be freaking out. A sudden bolt of lightning struck from the chasm. The scar on her hand pulsed violently, making her yell out and fall to her knees.

_For the love of nugs, this thing is annoying!_

Cassandra's voice actually had a note of concern in it when she explained of the mark. That it was their only hope of closing the Breach, that it was spreading, and that it was killing her. Elsa's response did not need much consideration this time.

"Very well. Let us make haste then."

"You will help us?"

"Of course."

The dark eyes searched hers for a second, but then she helped her up and led her through the village. Though the atmosphere hadn't been great when she first arrived, now it was abysmal. The injured had been laid down along the path, tended to by what seemed to be a single healer. The only thing that outnumbered them were the dead, lined up further away from the camp, their feet sticking out from under tarp. The wails from the wounded cut through bone and marrow, satiating the air with despair. While there were not many people left to stare at her, their looks were impossible to misinterpret. They wanted her head.

Outside of the village, Cassandra saw fit to undo the ropes around her wrists. As they began to make their way up the mountain, the mark continued to throb and crackle. Elsa gritted her teeth, quickly adapting to the sharp pains.

_Showing weakness now is not going to help._

The green hue intensified when they crossed a bridge, rapidly surging into a dazzling flash. The stone rumbled, then vanished as the blast obliterated the soldiers in front of them. They fell, tumbling overhead and crashing hard into the valley below. She quickly threw her arms over her head to shield herself from falling debris. Cassandra groaned next to her, then jumped to her feet, her gaze fixed on a point some distance away.

What Elsa had thought to be a rock striking the bridge had rolled into the valley with them. She watched it, shrinking back as it began to move. It grew larger and split apart, grey smoke coiling around the segments rolling across the frozen river. Demons — Shades if the sketches in her books were accurate — rose up from the ground. Their piercing shrieks sent shivers through the ice that trembled underneath her feet.

"Stay behind me."

The Seeker needn't say it twice. The demons focused their gaze on her as she charged in, while Elsa stepped backwards towards the rubble. The warrior was skilled, no doubt about it. Her shield was raised high, blocking one of the monsters as it tried to claw its way towards her while she engaged the other with her sword. As experienced as she was however, a two-on-one situation remained tricky for anyone.

Elsa searched around and caught sight of the tip of a bow sticking out from the rocks. She dug it out and searched the debris for an arrow. The dented quiver she found held some, though most were broken from the fall. She pulled one out that was still intact and took her position. Looking down the shaft, she focused her gaze on the warrior, ready to let the arrow fly at the first opportunity. The moment came when she pulled her sword from one of the ghouls and stepped back to catch her breath. The arrow struck the other demon in the head — a perfect shot. It shrieked and clawed at its face, until it seemed to collapse in on itself and shrivelled up on the ground.

"Drop your —"

She had already placed the bow down and stepped away, holding up her hands. Cassandra stared at her, her hand with her sword suspended in the air.

"If I wished you harm, my arrow would have found a different target, Lady Cassandra. I was taught how to hunt when I was six. I am a rather good shot."

The Seeker continued to stare at her a while longer until she sheathed her sword. "You need more arrows."

They searched the rubble together until the battered quiver was somewhat filled, and continued on through the valley. More demons had surfaced, stupidly stumbling around in a world they didn't know. Elsa steeled herself, aiming her shots carefully from afar as the Seeker rushed forward. She felt a hint of annoyance at the warrior's recklessness, though at least Cassandra drew all the attention towards herself. She wasn't sure how she'd react if one of the monsters targeted her instead.

Eventually they reached one of the rifts that Cassandra had mentioned. It was tiny compared to the looming gash overhead, yet it too had a strange pull that stirred her stomach with each pulse. Elsa did her best to ignore the thing and instead focused on the fight going on around it. In addition to a few soldiers, there were an elven mage and a dwarf with a crossbow. The elf was so silent you'd hardly notice him, which somehow made the strength of his spells all the more impressive.

_Simple clothes, practical staff. Someone who travels, alone and understated._

The dwarf was another story. He hollered at the Seeker at their approach and laughed — actually laughed — as demons closed in around him. He cocked his weapon with loud clanks, shooting bolt after bolt haphazardly around him. While she tried to make every arrow of her limited supply count for as much as possible, his approach was rather to hit anything that moved as often as he could. Undoubtedly this reckless behaviour was only reinforced by the peculiar construction of the weapon he carried. She'd never liked crossbows for how heavy and sluggish they were in reloading, but this one shot faster than any she'd ever held.

Cassandra charged ahead. Elsa continued her strategy of staying away from the thick of the fighting, focusing her efforts on providing cover for the brazen warrior. Given her position and the fact that she was starting to warm up to her, the Divine's Right Hand seemed to be her best bet in making it out of this alive. It would be most unfortunate if she died.

The moment the last demon fell — whether it was from the flurry of bolts or her arrow piercing its chest, she couldn't tell — the mage advanced on her, grabbed her wrist and lifted it up to the sky. The rift shrivelled and snapped closed with a crack.

She stared at her scarred hand. _Looks like I'm not getting out of here any time soon._

"What is this thing?"

"That is something we can only theorise at." The elf's voice was quiet and not unfriendly. "It did, however, enable you to close the rift."

"Good, here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever." The dwarf came towards them, eyeing her with an amused interest. _Kirkwall accent and… that is quite a neckline. Wait, hold on… _"Varric Tethras," he introduced himself, "Rogue, storyteller and, occasionally, unwelcome tag-along."

She blinked. "You're joking?"

Her accent shone through in her enthusiasm. She quickly snapped her mouth shut, but he'd caught on. The dwarf raised his eyebrows and smirked. "No, my jokes are usually better than stating my name. Free Marcher then, are you?"

_Maker, he's quick. It wasn't that bad._

"Yes." She smiled, her voice reined once more. "Elsa Trevelyan of Ostwick. My apologies. I have all of your books. I did not expect to ever meet you, let alone in a situation such as this."

"Well, will you listen to that?" The dwarf looked around him triumphantly, resting on Cassandra. "Isn't that nice?"

"I am Solas, if introductions are to be had." In her flash of excitement she had almost forgotten about the quiet man again. He was by far the hardest to read so far, but he regarded her with curiosity. "I am pleased to see you still live."

"He means 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept'," Varric added.

"Ma serannas." She inclined her head. "I am in your debt."

Cassandra cleared her throat from behind him. "Lady Trevelyan —"

"Elsa, please."

"… Elsa. We should continue."

A short exchange followed between the Seeker and the dwarf, making Elsa wonder about the history between them. Her opinion of her favourite author rapidly increased with every snarky comment that annoyed the Seeker. Furthermore, both Solas and Varric seemed less inclined to believe her guilty than anyone else so far, which gave some comfort. The rogue talked quite animatedly with her as they made their way through the valley, seemingly more interested in getting a good story than blaming her for the surrounding mess.

"So, are you innocent?" he asked, without ceremony.

"I… do not remember what happened," she sighed, still extremely annoyed this was the best she could answer. For someone who relied on her mind as much as she did, having a chunk of it missing was extremely disconcerting.

"That'll get you every time," he chuckled. "Should've spun a story."

"That's what _you_ would have done," Cassandra interjected.

"It's more believable! And less likely to result in premature execution."

He winked at her. Judging by the Seeker's expression, however, she'd done well not to follow Varric's suggestion. The amount of lies she'd have to tell to make it out of here alive would mount soon enough.

_Master Tethras… You don't know the half of it._

o - o - o

Another rift and an encounter with a disgruntled cleric later, she found herself climbing up the mountain with a new quiver full of arrows. The trek had not seemed as long before the Conclave as it did this time. The cold had been vexing so far, but continued to bite into her skin more and more. Her clothes were not fit for this altitude, nor did the dampness that had seeped into them do anything to help the situation. She suppressed a shiver and increased her pace, trudging past Varric to speed up their mission. She cursed angrily under her breath, although taking care not to be overheard. The sooner she closed the Breach and could get inside, the better.

She came to a sudden halt when they reached the camp. The cold winds streaked past, cutting into her face, but for a moment they went unnoticed. It was only now, standing at the top of the stairs, that she realised the extent to which her mind had been in denial, perhaps even shock. Despite the constant threat of the Breach in the sky, seeing the damage to the temple up close suddenly made the situation sink in.

There had been massive paintings and carvings so intricate that she could not possibly commit it all to memory, much as she might have tried. The vaulted ceilings had towered above her head, making her stare in awe and wonder at how such a building had ever been constructed. The tiling on the floor had been polished to a shine, showing the most brilliant colours laid in elaborate patterns. Now it was gone. All of it… lost forever.

Sounds of a fight beyond the wall pulled her back to the present. While Cassandra checked the situation with one of the soldiers, she climbed up to gain a better view of the scene ahead. She knelt down, casting a short glance at the fallen statue of Andraste some distance away. Part of her face was missing, her one eye staring hollowly at the floor. Elsa swallowed, then scanned the field.

Demons were spilling from a rift in the middle of the entrance hall. The movements of the soldiers were unfocused, weak as they engaged the enemy. None seemed to be fighting on full capacity, with many carrying wounds ranging from severe to close to mortal. One man, still fit enough to dash across the field, threw himself in harms way in an attempt to protect another who had fallen down.

_Silly move. Templar, judging by his stance and grip. Not wearing the armour though. Distinct cloak… Looking to distinguish himself?_

The man engaged the demon, though his reckless move had left him in a tight position. Within a second she had pulled an arrow from her quiver, laid it against the bow, and moved into position. She rolled her shoulders back instinctively and spread her stance to steady herself. It had been long since she last felt the corrective _snap_ of her teacher's riding crop, but its effects had not dulled over time. With a deep breath she drew back her elbow, tightening the string

_Back straight, grip relaxed… Breath steady._

The world slowed down with her exhale. Her fingers brushed the skin under her chin, the thin line grazing her nose and lips as she looked down the shaft of the arrow.

_Wait for the opportune moment. Do not shoot unless you're sure of your kill._

The knight pushed back the monster with his shield and moved his head a fraction to the side. Her fingers released the string, sending the arrow flashing through the air. It struck the demon exactly where she'd intended, giving him the space to vanquish his foe.

Solas motioned for her to come down as the soldiers rushed the last demon on the field. The moment they took it down, she lifted her hand. The mark stung uncomfortably as it snapped the rift shut, but calmed down the moment it had done its job. She stared at the green glow, not sure what she felt towards the addition to her body. Varric came to stand next to her and followed her eyes.

"You doing okay, Sterling?"

She looked at him. "Sterling?"

"Nickname. I give one to everyone. Isn't that right, Chuckles?"

"Is this one not a little on the nose?"

"If it fits, it fits," he shrugged, slinging his bow over his shoulder. "I'm not going to make it more complicated than it needs to be."

"Very well," she chuckled. "I am fine, thank you." She glanced across the field to where Cassandra was being approached by the man in the unusual armour. "Do you know who that is?"

He followed her gaze and raised his eyebrows. "Ah, you mean Curly?"

"Curly?"

She let her eyes drift over the man that was now scowling at her. He was not in the armour, but still wore the templar emblem on his bracers. There were dark circles under his sunken eyes and a large bruise extended from under his collar. Handsome under the layer of grime covering his face, to be sure, though his looks were not helped by the expression of resentment. He stared at her like she was the embodiment of the plague. His hair was blond under the soot — a few shades darker than Myca's, she guessed, but wavy more so than curly.

"He used to have it shorter," Varric continued, seemingly annoyed he now had to explain the logic behind the nickname. "Don't dye your hair, alright?"

Cassandra was now looking at her as well, though no longer sharing the hostile glare the knight was giving her. Elsa walked over to them, her expression neutral with what she estimated to be an appropriate amount of friendliness for meeting the angry templar. Though Cassandra seemed to have little patience for manners and ceremony, she facilitated the introduction between Elsa and the man before her. He continued to glare at her with suspicion as he sized her up.

"I hope they're right about you."

_Like it's my fault if they aren't._

"We've lost a lot of people getting you here."

_Ferelden-born, this one. If they all walk into a bar together we have the setup for a joke._

"I'll do my best not to let their sacrifice be in vain, Commander… ?"

"… Cullen."

Everything in his stance, his manner, and his voice, screamed 'templar'. She knew the type, better than she cared to. It was unusual, however, to see one separated from his Order. The distrust in his eyes did not let up, perhaps even intensified a little as she wrestled his given name from him. She decided to leave him be for the moment. Not only were there matters more pressing, trying to wrangle an unwilling nug was never more than a waste of energy. She returned the blessing he begrudgingly bestowed upon them with a smile, before they parted ways and she stored her observations of the weary knight away for another time.

They walked past the disfigured remains of others that had attended the Conclave, no longer recognisable as templar, mage or cleric, or even as man or woman. Elsa swallowed when they exited the passage and she looked up at the sky. The Breach loomed overhead, a flaming chasm that tore at the fabric of the world. The uncomfortable stirring in her abdomen slowly fought its way to the surface, no longer willing to be ignored. What used to be the grand hall, was no more than a gaping pit.

_Andraste, give me strength._

"Don't touch that, Sterling." Varric gestured at the crackling red crystal that was growing out of the walls. "That stuff is trouble."

"What is it?"

He had been so confident before, aloof almost, but now he glanced around him with shifty eyes. His fingers were tight around his crossbow, his burly shoulders tense. "Lyrium," he grumbled, "but not the kind you see the Chantry handing out. It makes people go completely off their rocker."

"Lyrium?"

Though it was not something one encountered on a daily basis, with a family of templars she'd seen her share of the stuff. It had felt very different from the red variety pulsing around them now. She carefully stepped around the deposits as they slowly continued their descent, ignoring the unidentifiable whispers that surfaced in her head.

A booming voice cut through the air, making her jump. She looked around for the source. There was no clear one to be found, though it seemed to be coming from the throbbing shape suspended in the sky. It continued to speak, increasingly loud the closer they got. Then it was joined by one she recognised from the Conclave, as well as one much closer to home.

"That was your voice." Cassandra stared at her in astonishment. "Most Holy called out to you, but…"

Elsa looked at the shape, where shades of memories seemed to be forming in the air. Memories that seemingly should be hers, but weren't. She watched herself walk through the door that formed such a blockade in her mind, stumbling upon a scene that did not seem real. A tall creature, a shadow with eyes that glowed white, holding the Divine in its grasp.

_What in the Void did I get myself into?_

She did not like the notion of opening the rift hanging before them one bit. Reluctantly she raised her hand at Solas' encouragement, where the mark showed it did not need her full consent as it connected to the fissure above.

Nothing in any book she'd ever read could have prepared her for the Pride Demon. She stood petrified, staring at the monster that had come charging through. There was an arrow in her hand, but she did not feel the shaft between her fingers. The creature was drawn towards the archers lining the walls and the soldiers swarming it under Cassandra's leadership. They managed to keep it away from her, though on occasion it unleashed an attack that reached far across the field. It was only by luck that she didn't get hit, for her feet might as well have been nailed to the ground.

Rage demons started homing in on her location, seeing her as an easy target without the protection of a warrior. They snapped her out of her trance, only for panic to grip her heart. She frantically searched the area for higher ground, but there was nothing in reach. The demons rushed her, getting closer and closer, until her mother's sharp voice cut through her mind like a knife.

_Get a hold of yourself. Fear has no place in a world like ours._

Solas' frost magic fixed one of the demons in place. She readied her shot in a flash, piercing the other through the throat when she could already feel its heat on her face. The giant went down with a howl further down field. As soon as it had, the mark seemed to pull itself towards the rift above her head. Her hand lurched forward on its own and she grabbed on to her wrist, tears filling her eyes at the searing pain surging through her arm. She focused all her effort on keeping her stomach from turning, until her mind succumbed to the scorching agony and faded to black.


	3. Unprepared

Her day started exceptionally normal, although only in comparison to the ones preceding it. She awoke, unfamiliar with her location and after an indeterminable amount of time. How often was this still going to happen? This time, however, her clothes were dry and she was lying on a bed instead of the floor. An improvement over the last time, to be sure.

The servant jumped when she saw her and only scarcely managed to relay Cassandra's instructions. Elsa sat in silence a moment after she'd left, unsure how to interpret the elf's response to her. She got up and walked over to the mirror. Her skin was stained with soot, blood and whatever else demons left behind. Her hair was matted and dirty. She raked through it with her fingers, smoothing it out as well as she could, and grabbed the blanket off the bed to rub the worst stains from her face. It would have to do. Her reflection looked her over, grey eyes neutral, and she steeled herself for what was to come.

She made her way to the Chantry, feeling uneasy without Cassandra's protection. Her nerves proved to be unnecessary. Though the looks she had gotten before were homicidal, today they were mixes of awe and curiosity. She kept her head high as she walked through the crowds gathering around to catch a glimpse of her, mustering up as much dignity as she could with her unkempt appearance.

_What in the Void is going on?_

o - o - o

Her decision to stay with the Inquisition for the moment was easily made. First, it would be hard to leave with the only potential solution to a problem that threatened to destroy the world without looking like an ass. Second, apparently the Chantry still wanted her head. Given that fact, it seemed rather unwise to leave the protection of those who no longer did. And third… while she clung to her hope that Myca had not been at the Conclave, she didn't have a clue where to look for him next.

As the former Hands of the Divine were busy with whatever was involved in declaring an Inquisition reborn, Elsa managed to find a wash basin and pay a visit to a most obliging blacksmith. Like most craftsmen, he was an uncomplicated sort of man with good skills and great pride in his work. He was only too happy to outfit her with something more suitable for their location. She made sure to visit him after she'd changed into the outfit he'd provided her with and show it off with a twirl. He beamed with pride as she praised his work. It was nice not having to play sometimes.

Once she felt more like herself again, she took a seat by the fire with Varric. He was an easy conversation partner and as keen an observer as she was. Keeping him company was a win-win. He clearly loved to hear himself talk and she enjoyed listening to the voice behind some of her favourite stories. They swapped experiences from their travel across the seas, hers more hazy on details than his, and other stories of life in the north. She laughed at one of his anecdotes, her voice slipping slightly as it had when she met him.

"So, tell me…" He gave her a sideways smirk, eyes rapidly observing her. "What's with the voice?"

"Voice?"

"Yes, Sterling. Must take effort to talk like that. Also the walking without bobbing your head, though I guess that's something you nobles learn from birth. But why go through the trouble of hiding your accent when everyone knows you're a Free Marcher anyway?"

"The same reason your author pictures do not look much like you. Do you spend a lot of time surrounded by women with their hands down your shirt?"

He chuckled. "Not as much as I should. It's just about appearances then?"

"You would be surprised how important it is to some," she shrugged.

"Oh, I know." He observed her for a moment. "I think I picked the right name for you, Sterling."

She looked around, looking for another topic of conversation. It wouldn't do for the dwarf to get too close to her while she was stuck here. Her attention was drawn to a blur of red passing by the gate.

"You did not tell me in the end. How do you know the Commander?"

"Ah, I didn't, did I?" He paused for effect, then made a dramatic flourish with his hand. "Curly. Former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall. Or, Knight-Commander I guess, in the end. They didn't have much of a hierarchy left after what happened."

She cast him a sidelong glance. "Really? That is Cullen Rutherford? Second in command to Meredith Stannard?"

"You've heard of him?"

"A bit." She pursed her lips, frowning as she contemplated the silhouette of the former Knight-Commander. "There was more talk of Stannard, of course, but his name was mentioned as well. He retaliated against her when she called the annulment of the Circle, correct?"

"Not quite… He was a part of that. He turned on her when she came after Hawke."

She looked at him in disbelief. "He came to the defence of an apostate who sided with the mages in the Circle?"

"Hawke was an apostate, but also the hero of Kirkwall." There was a distinct pride in his voice as he spoke of the mage. "My guess is he didn't agree with the annulment, but it took Meredith calling for Hawke's head for him to see that she had completely lost her senses. He's a stickler for rules, but not a bad guy."

"Huh…" The Commander turned around to enter the village and walked past them towards the Chantry. He cast her a short glance in passing. It was no less mistrustful than it had been three days ago. "Interesting."

"Are you being taken in by the golden locks and the stick up his ass as well?" Varric smirked. "I think Hawke always had a soft spot for him too."

"No," she chuckled. "I don't think so."

o - o - o

_No, definitely not._

The suspicion was still written across his face when he looked at her from across the war table. It wasn't hard to see why the Champion of Kirkwall might have had an interest in the man. He was good-looking, definitely more so now that he'd slept and cleaned himself up, and she wondered to which extent he was aware of his own looks. Of the people in the room he seemed to be the only one who still had an issue with her though, and it was starting to get on her nerves. Fortunately she didn't need his approval with the backing of Cassandra and Leliana, but she could do perfectly well without the watchful stare of a paranoid templar.

Cassandra introduced the man more properly to her this time. He seemed to be making a conscious effort to be polite, though his eyes kept darting between hers, trying to find something in them she was far too skilled in hiding.

"Pardon me…" She paused, giving him a sweet smile, "Would you be the former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall?" He was, of course, but she guessed this man would not appreciate her having found out as much by talking with Varric. He blinked in surprise, confirmed his identity, and proved himself unaccustomed to receiving a compliment.

_See how nice I am? Ponder that, Commander._

Josephine — _just a Tevinter and a Rivaini to complete the set now_ — was the closest of her new acquaintances as to what she was used to, though her happy manner was an interesting change. Back home you were lucky if you could get a chortle out of a conversation partner. This girl smiled so brightly it was a little perplexing.

After introductions, they got to discussing the plans of closing the Breach that Cassandra had mentioned. Elsa had not liked the suggestion of powering up the mark on her hand at all and Leliana's plan to involve the rebel mages did not make it sound any more appealing. The searing pain through her body when she tried to close the Breach was still sharp in her memory. She wasn't keen on having a bunch more magic added to that.

"And I still disagree. The templars could serve just as well."

Of course it would be the man who didn't trust a hair on her head to offer this option. If they indeed contacted the templars it could possibly lead her to Myca. Not to mention she liked the idea of a plan that did not involve her becoming a funnel in some magical experiment. He seemed to be on the losing side of the argument however, with Cassandra and Leliana being in agreement and Josephine remaining silent on the matter.

_Tread carefully now…_

Leliana cast her a long look when she spoke up, not portraying any emotion one way or another. The templar on the other hand looked at her in surprise, before quickly adjusting his expression.

_A for effort, Commander._

The conversation continued and they further explained to her how she had gotten her reputation as Andraste's 'Herald'. While Cassandra seemed to have no doubt in her mind about this new identity, her own conclusions were a bit more careful. Though she could not explain the memory of the glowing woman, or how she managed to be the only survivor of the explosion, it was hard to believe divine intervention at the root of it. Of all people, why would Andraste feel the need to save her?

"It's quite the title, isn't it?" His voice pulled her from her thoughts. She found him observing her, his brow furrowed and his head angled to the side. "How do you feel about that?"

_Well, aren't you precious?_

She prevented a smile from spreading across her face. The challenge in his words was clear. Something inside of her, childish as it was, felt the immediate urge to take him up on it. She had her answer ready within a second, but took her time to deliver the line. He huffed a laugh in response. Though she could tell he wasn't quite convinced of her yet, she had passed his test for now.

o - o - o

She had planned to enjoy their trip to the Hinterlands. Now that she was no longer a prisoner or dying, it had dawned on her that she was somewhere that wasn't her home or the streets of Ostwick. While she'd intended to make the most of that fact, she only managed to do so for a very short time. Combat found them the moment they approached The Crossroads. Though the mages attacking them were scary, the deranged looks on the templars' faces disturbed her far more.

Varric, staying close beside her, let the bolts from his crossbow fly. The dwarf seemed oddly comfortable with shooting people, as if it were nothing more than an everyday occurrence. Perhaps from reading his _Tale of the Champion_, she should have been less surprised. Cassandra dashed ahead of the pack once more, her skills as a Seeker causing mage and templar to bend before her. Solas, eyes glazed over with a feral hardness, maintained some distance from the group and silently struck down his adversaries with deadly elemental spells. All Elsa could do was remain where she was, clutching her bow and arrow, and stare at the madness transpiring in front of her.

As the last of their enemies went down, she felt the thick fingers of the dwarf tentatively touch her trembling arm.

"You alright, Sterling?"

_No. No, no, no. A million times, no._

She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back, placing the unused arrow back inside her quiver. With some effort she conjured a smile on her face and sighed apologetically.

"I am fine. I guess this is not something I am used to quite yet."

Cassandra cast her a concerned look.

"I certainly don't want to make you do anything you're uncomfortable with… But given the situation here, we can use another archer to level the field."

Elsa nodded, resisting the urge to swallow. "My apologies. I will do better next time."

She seized on the opportunity to help the refugees gathered in the valley, glad to be performing tasks like shooting game and collecting herbs. In a further stroke of luck, Mother Giselle proved to be a gentle person who did not consider her a threat to the Chantry. For the moment Elsa decided to share her hope that the clerics would listen to reason, if only to have something to hope for after the chaos from before. Sadly, however, there was only so much time before Cassandra announced that they had to press on. They travelled further north, staying away from the main roads at Varric's insistence. Though the Seeker argued back at first, she begrudgingly agreed eventually, casting Elsa a thoughtful look as she led the party down a side track to avoid further conflict.

That night Elsa sat alone in her tent, recalling the memories of the mages and templars rushing them. She looped through the images in her mind; their faces, their motions, their attacks, their voices… Over and over, committed to repeating them until she grew desensitised. She had her bow and arrow in her hand, readying a shot as she imagined the knights running towards her, picturing her arrows striking the weak spots in their armour. It was deep into the night by the time she stopped and shook out her arms to rid her muscles of the tension from repeatedly pulling her bow on the empty insides of her tent. She placed the weapon next to her and glanced around, not feeling ready to sleep in spite of the long day.

Her eye fell on her bag. She reached into it to grab a piece of vellum and a quill and ink, remembering Cassandra's request of reporting back to the Inquisition's leadership at Haven. Though it seemed to make more sense for the Seeker to report on matters herself, the way she had brusquely delegated the task to her did not invite further discussion on the matter. She didn't mind. While she was a reader more than a writer, she quite enjoyed the practice from time to time. There was a certain art to putting things into words and writing in a way that did not lead to misinterpretation, a challenge one did not have to the same extent in direct conversation. Furthermore, getting some of the images of the day out of her head and onto paper might help ease her mind just a bit.

She stared at the parchment, tapping the quill against her lip while she pondered where to begin. Her report would be addressed to the Commander, since he was ultimately in charge of requisitions, resource management, and the volunteers that they had advised to go to Haven. It was quite staggering, the amount of responsibilities that seemed to be resting on his shoulders. She had some idea of them, since Hershel had often complained about such tasks in his position as knight-commander whenever he visited them at home. Most likely the two jobs were similar, though clearly both involved tasks that were not applicable to the other. Perhaps this was something she could ask him about when they got back to Haven. Now that he had shown himself to be the only one interested in contacting the templars, she had more incentive to get on his good side. People usually appreciated it when you showed an interest in their work, though she was beginning to wonder how much of her regular tactics were going to be effective on the suspicious knight. He wasn't stupid, nor did he seem to be a prideful man or one with aspirations to wealth or power, which would have been easy traits to appeal to. With a swish she dipped the quill in the ink, shook the excess off, and began to write.

* * *

_Commander Rutherford,_

_Saying the situation in the Hinterlands is bad would be a gross understatement. Though we encountered little resistance on our journey to The Crossroads, we got caught in the fighting between mages and templars the moment we walked into the area. Both factions have those among them that seemingly have traded away all reason, replacing it with hatred and madness while they kill anyone who gets in their way. Their opinion of the Inquisition is far from favourable, both seeing the organisation as an arm of the Chantry trying to bring them back into the fold._

_I am pleased to say that we managed to help the villagers and refugees that have gathered here, and that the area has been somewhat stabilised by the Inquisition's presence. While there are many wounded, we were able to tend to their most immediate needs and provide them with food and blankets. Many of them will travel on to Haven as soon as they have recovered some of their strength, for these parts are still far from safe. You should expect the first of them to arrive within a week, which hopefully gives you enough time to prepare._

_Mother Giselle has suggested that we travel to Val Royeux in order to appeal to the clerics. While I am unsure of the Chantry's willingness to listen, seeing the bloodshed around here makes me pray that diplomacy will bring results. Tomorrow we shall continue on in the direction of Redcliffe Farms to find the Master of Horses you spoke of, as well as attempt to close some of the rifts to have been reported in this area. It is my hope that in my next report I will be able to tell you that we have been successful in both this and securing horses for the army. Once we have, Cassandra plans to come back to Haven and reevaluate our situation._

_While personal sentiments undoubtedly have little place in a formal report (and I would be most grateful if you could instruct me on the proper format for future correspondence), I hope you will forgive me if this letter is also somewhat of a sounding board for me while I try to process all the impressions we have gathered since we left. While Ostwick did not have the same issues as Kirkwall, there was the occasional incident with rebel mages. Although the mages here are far more aggressive than those ever were, it is an image I am at least somewhat familiar with. Seeing the templars stray this far from their path, however, is extremely disconcerting. I am embarrassed to say I completely froze on the battlefield as a result. Though I do not wish to pry in your private affairs, it is my understanding that you are originally from this area and have served at Kinloch Hold. I very much hope none of your former colleagues or family are caught within this chaos. In case they are, my thoughts go out to them and you._

_Kind regards,_

_Elsa Trevelyan_

* * *

She read the letter several times, wondering if the last paragraph was a good idea or not. It hadn't been in her plan to write it, but the words had formed on their own as she recalled the visions of the day. Seeing them out in the open made her feel a little better. Though she wondered if her inadequacy in combat would reflect badly on her, she concluded that it was unlikely the information would worsen his opinion of her further. She watched the ink dry as she scanned the letter a few more times, before rolling it up and sealing it.

They had not been travelling long the next day before they encountered more combat. Elsa breathed nervously as she watched Cassandra dash forward. It soon became clear that the lone warrior was not enough to keep all the templars away from her, with two of them rushing past towards them. Solas cast a quick glance in her direction.

"Stay behind me."

He moved forward, intercepting their enemies. Perhaps the templars had not had access to lyrium since they separated from the Chantry, or Solas was simply very skilled in countering their abilities. The thin barrier surrounding him seemed to be keeping them at bay well enough, yet the risk he put himself in was clear as day. She took a deep breath, readying her arrow.

Her first shot landed right between the helmet and the cuirass, piercing the briefly exposed neck. The templar clawed at the projectile that had skewered his throat, sputtering and choking on the blood coming out of his mouth. He tripped on a root as he stumbled backwards and fell, continuing to struggle and twitch for what seemed like an eternity. She stared at him, her mind blank, until Varric's voice snapped her out of it.

"Heads up, Sterling!"

Another knight came running towards them, sword high in anticipation, his feet stomping hard on the ground. The wood of the arrow scraped against the rest as she pulled back her elbow.

"Blessed are they," she whispered against the string, "who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter."

The emblem on his chest was dull and stained with blood.

"Blessed are the peacekeepers."

His eyes were visible through the visor, a mad hatred shining within them.

"Champions of the just."

The string released with a snap. The knight dropped his sword when he reached for his face, taking several more steps before he fell to his knees only a few yards away from her. Blood poured from his helmet and down his arms and chest. He howled in pain, before collapsing and going still.

_How the mighty have fallen._

o - o - o

Elsa was not in the mood to spend much time with her companions that evening. Master Dennet had given them a list of requests before he would even consider handing them as much as a crippled mule. Her arrows had furthermore felled a lot more people after the first two templars. With their voices and faces still lingering in her mind, she had felt little desire to negotiate with the man. Instead, she had simply agreed to his demands. Possibly seeing her weariness, the horse master had allowed them to sleep in the loft of his barn. Simple pleasures, she reminded herself, appreciating the comfort of spreading her bedroll over a soft pile of hay instead of the hard ground she'd been sleeping on for the past nights. Just as she was about to close her eyes, listening to Varric's snores coming from further away, the rustling of wings approached in the dark.

A raven with a scroll tied to its leg landed next to her and eagerly hopped closer. It took flight the moment she'd untied the message and settled on one of the wooden beams above her head. She watched it for a moment, setting herself the mental reminder to ask Leliana how she trained those birds when they got back, before focusing on the scroll it had delivered. There were two sheets of paper, one with a letter addressed to her and another which seemed to be a report about resource gathering by someone stationed in a different part of the Hinterlands. Putting the report aside for the moment, she flattened the letter in front of her and pulled the lantern closer to read the message.

* * *

_Lady Trevelyan,_

_While you are correct in your assumption that it is best to avoid expressing personal opinions or feelings in a military report, I would not wish for you to keep any thoughts to yourself that cause you distress. As far as the correct formatting goes, I have attached a copy of a report that I received a few days ago as a reference for future writings. I would urge you to stick to this structure to keep communications running efficiently, but rest assured that the first part of your letter was very informative and clear in its message. You seem to have a real aptitude with words and there is not much you will need to alter in the future. Anything else that you wish to express could be included in a more informal document such as this._

_In response to your last paragraph, please do not feel ashamed for needing time to adapt to the sights of war. It is easy for me to forget that there are people such as yourself who are not used to situations like these and it is only natural to feel disturbed by them. I share your shock at the behaviour some templars are portraying these days. During the last months in Kirkwall I have had to deal with many men under my command developing similar sentiments and it saddens me to say that I did not always succeed in keeping them on the right path. It was an ugly process to witness, to say the least._

_Finally, I want to thank you for your concern, though you do not need to worry. Fortunately my family moved away from the region many years ago and I did not leave any friends behind in Ferelden. It is unlikely you have encountered anyone of my acquaintance in your travels, which is a small blessing. From what I gather, you have several brothers who are in the Order. I had assumed they are back in the Free Marches, but do not know if this is actually the case. Either way, seeing their colleagues reduced to this state must make this all the more difficult for you. Maker watch over you and I pray for your strength and safe return._

_Kind regards,_

_Commander Cullen_

* * *

She cast a quick glance at the report he'd included. It was the same handwriting, meaning he had taken time to copy it from the original himself instead of letting someone under his command do it for him. It was a clear document. Indeed, the way she had described her experiences was not too far removed from it, though the information was organised differently and a little dryer than she liked. Still, if this was what he was used to, she could make it work.

The report was hardly the most interesting of the two, so she flung it aside again and refocused on the letter. There was a lot of information in there and after the day she'd had, it was an enjoyable distraction to try and unravel the Inquisition's Commander.

_Lady Trevelyan._ Most likely she would remain that until she urged him to call her otherwise, though he had not signed with his own last name, despite her addressing him as such. Commander Cullen did have a nice ring to it, though it was probably just a templar habit and not a sign that he specifically wished for her to call him that. They often seemed to use first names in the Order… perhaps to make the templars appear more human towards their charges.

_You seem to have a real aptitude with words…_ She chuckled at the comment, quite sure he was not so much referring to her letter as he was to the meeting they'd had in the war room.

_…I did not leave any friends behind._ In the letter it was mentioned as a positive, yet she felt a sadness creep into her chest as she read the words. Though the Commander seemed like a private man, it was likely not by choice that he left his home country friendless.

Overall, his tone, though professional, was much friendlier than she had anticipated. While she had failed to prevent her companions from noticing her discomfort, she hadn't wished to discuss it. It had nothing to do with them, it was simply not something that she did. Writing it down and sending it off to someone miles away had been unusual, but easier. The Commander's offer for her to share her concerns with him seemed to be coming from something more than politeness. Of course, there was the real possibility he simply wished to prevent their key to closing the Breach from losing her marbles.

Honesty was not usually a strategy in the Game, for anything that you revealed might be turned against you in a heartbeat. Yet the little things she'd shared with him seemed to have resonated. Sharing anything about her that wasn't carefully crafted made her stomach swirl uncomfortably. Unfortunately it was starting to seem like it might just be her only option in getting the knight to start trusting her a little.

She grabbed her writing utensils and drafted a formal document detailing their day to him, as well as a quick reply on another sheet. The raven came down from his perch just when she had finished rolling up the scroll, and she attached it to its leg. She extinguished her lantern and closed her eyes, faintly noticing how the Commander's letter had chased the images of the day from her mind, while the black wings carried her words back to him through the night.

* * *

_Commander Cullen,_

_Thank you for your swift reply and taking the time to copy over the report for my reference. While it does not make for a riveting read, I see the need for objectivity and clear communication. Included with this note you will find my findings of the day and I pray my communication skills live up to your expectations._

_Reading your kind words has given me comfort this evening and I thank you for your concern. Please know that I am feeling better at present and find myself beginning to grow accustomed to our current situation. Although I will refrain from burdening anyone else with my comparably small problems henceforth, I do want to express my appreciation for your listening ear and hope I might return the favour some day if needed._

_Kind regards,_

_Elsa_


	4. Nice to Meet You

Elsa was in and out of Haven over the course of several weeks. When she was in town, she spent a large part of her days bent over family trees and records with Josephine, recalling scandals and gossip, figuring out who owed whom, and how all this information might be of use to the Inquisition. The leftover hours were filled with living up to the expectations that came with her role as 'the Herald'. She talked with the people, welcomed and helped settle in the refugees that kept trickling in, read to the children, and led prayer sessions in the mornings and evenings.

On occasion, a meeting was called in the war room which she was asked to attend. It was in one of those that Josephine presented a report, detailing some scandalous behaviour from one of Elsa's more distant relatives. She feigned shock at hearing the news, though it was hardly surprising. Not everyone in their clan was as good at keeping up appearances as her family was. The Commander suggested squashing those who falsely claimed close acquaintance with her and the Inquisition with force. It was his method of dealing with most of the problems that arose. She had to consider the option for a while. Though she ended up opting for diplomacy nonetheless, she made sure to cast him a grateful smile from across the table. He received it by clearing his throat and shifting his eyes away before he returned it. She seemed to be making progress with the knight… but he proved himself a tougher nut to crack than most.

They rode back into Haven after another excursion to the Hinterlands. It had been a relatively short one, only a little under a week. Fortunately, their missions had become more peaceful the more they returned, although bandits continuously popped up to take advantage of the refugees and rifts were always accompanied by a troupe of demons. Cassandra was visibly annoyed on their way back, brooding by herself for most of the journey. The Seeker seemed to have enough of trying to empty the ocean with a thimble.

It had become an odd sensation to return to the village. Elsa was surprised to find it had started to feel like coming home. The blacksmith raised his hand in greeting and several others smiled and nodded as they rode by. She dismounted the horse bestowed upon her by Dennet and patted the bay on his neck. She missed her own horse, but the stallion was a steady animal with a friendly disposition. With training, the charger might become as responsive to her commands as Rona was, though he'd probably never equal the mare's nimble movements. Still, he was infinitely better than the old nag that she'd left Haven on.

Scanning the grounds, she recognised faces from their travels and she was glad to see so many of the people they'd encountered had made it to Haven. It seemed the Commander had not let time go to waste, as they all were busy with whatever work he'd assigned to them. The man himself was nowhere to be seen. Though she'd made it her habit to greet him upon arrival, it could wait for the moment.

_Better if I clean myself up first anyway._

She went to her cabin and stepped inside. Steel striking steel, whinnying horses, and other noises from the camp became muffled when she closed the door. She sighed, leaning against the wood, and let the tension from the day slip from her shoulders. She'd spent most of her days alone in Ostwick, save for meal times. There were the society events, of course, but those only occurred every few weeks. Even with the horrors she'd witnessed since stumbling into the Inquisition, spending the last weeks with Cassandra, Varric and Solas had been… fun. But although listening to their stories gave her more pleasure than anything else in recent memory, the sudden change to constant social interaction had been taxing. The rare moments of solitude in a space with walls thicker than canvas were a welcome relief.

With a fire already burning in the hearth, she began to change out of her armour. She removed the layers one by one, noticing just how much her body had changed since she left home. Faint muscle lines shone under her skin, visible because of the weight she'd lost. Her constitution had gotten much better over the last weeks as well, though it had happened so gradually she'd hardly noticed. They had climbed a hill on their last trip to inspect the progress on one of the new watchtowers. When they had gone there the first time, she'd needed several minutes to catch her breath, fighting down the sting in her side. This time, she had managed without any trouble. She'd quickly caught herself when she noticed Varric smirking and reined in the elated expression that had spread across her face at that realisation.

In anticipation of her return, a clean towel and jug of water had been placed upon the table. She took her time to scrub her pale skin, paying extra attention to all the spots she'd neglected whenever she'd taken a quick dip in the freezing streams of the Hinterlands. There were a few bruises on her arms and legs where branches had snapped against them, or from the times she'd tripped or lost her footing. It was definitely challenging to be graceful out in the country. The cleaner her body became, the darker the water grew, and she had to change it before washing her hair. The wet strands lay over her shoulder and she rubbed soap into them with her hands, before turning around and bending over backwards to rinse them out.

By the time she was done removing everything that she'd dragged with her from the Hinterlands it was the end of the afternoon. She changed into a warm winter dress with cloak and paused a moment before she stepped outside. The mirror showed a young woman, grey eyes neutral. She'd always liked her eyes, free of expression when she wanted them to be. It allowed people to project whatever feelings they wanted to onto them. It usually did half the work for her in conversations. People rarely look at who you really are, more eager to see how they want to see you. For now, however, she adjusted her posture and expression, settling on the soft smile she'd worn to meet refugees when they were out on the road. No harm in a bit of guidance.

Varric had also changed and was sitting in what had become his regular spot.

"Squeaky clean again, Sterling?"

"Nobles do not squeak, Master Tethras."

She gave him a serious look. The twinkle in his eyes that preceded his laughter did not fail to show itself and she softly chuckled along with him.

"Want to join me?" He motioned to the log next to him. "I've noticed my ego shrinking without you as my audience for the last few hours."

"You are a gift to those around you and have the most illustrious chest in all the land," she declared, bowing her head a fraction. "Will that keep you going while I say hello to some people?"

"Oh, for a bit," he winked. "See you later."

She smiled to herself as she walked up the path, pausing on her way to talk with Threnn and some sisters that were gossiping near the entrance. Leliana was in her tent, talking to one of her scouts. While she acknowledged Elsa's approach with a nod, her expression made it clear that she was not in the mood to chat. Elsa entered the Chantry instead, blinking to let her eyes get used to the darkness. The door to the war room was open, revealing the high-shouldered silhouette of the Commander. He had his back turned towards her, his hands planted on the table as he looked at the map in front of him. She made to join him, but a voice called out from her left before she'd made it halfway down the hall.

"Elsa, you have returned!"

The Commander turned around at the sound. Elsa shot him a quick smile, but could not decipher his expression before she pulled her gaze away. Josephine came towards her, ruffles bouncing with her movement and a wide smile on her face.

"We have, Josephine," Elsa replied, smiling as well. It was hard not to be influenced by the cheerful manner of the Ambassador. "I trust you have been well?"

"As well as anyone can be in a place as… rustic as this." She looked around her and sighed. "I imagine you are tired from your trip, but would you have a moment to go over some things with me? I could use your input."

"I'd be happy to help…" Elsa glanced towards the back of the hall. The Commander had returned his attention to the war table, though his body was still slightly angled towards the door. _An invitation?_ "But can we do it in a little while? I have a few things to do still."

"Yes, of course. I'll be in my office, you can come find me when it's convenient." She turned away and Elsa resumed her walk towards the back room, but only managed a few paces before the bright voice called after her again. "I forgot this!" Josephine pulled a letter from her clipboard and handed it to her. "Your mother wrote to you."

Elsa's fingers froze on the envelope for the briefest of moments. "My mother?"

"Yes, I wrote to your family to explain our situation, like we've discussed. They replied and are very supportive of your being here. This was included for you."

The letter was made of heavy parchment, though it only consisted of a single leaf. Her family crest was stamped into the seal, which was broken. Elsa looked at Josephine and raised her eyebrows. "It has been opened."

"Yes…" The Ambassador's expression twisted with guilt. "I do apologise. Leliana insists on screening all mail that goes in and out of Haven."

"I understand, Josephine. Don't worry about it."

She turned over the letter in her hand, recognising her mother's sharp script on the other side. _Elsa Devera Trevelyan._ As much as Leliana had scrutinised the letter, she wouldn't have uncovered anything in it that was of importance. Elsa didn't even need to open it to know what its contents were. Concerns for her well-being, prayers that were with her, how much she was in their thoughts, and how proud they were. It didn't mean anything. The real message was as clear as daylight on the front of the folded paper, only to be seen by those who knew it was there.

"Your middle name is Devera?" Josephine asked conversationally. "It is Antivan. Do you have connections there?"

"Yes, my mother is from there," Elsa answered, smiling as if the letter was the happy gift the Ambassador thought it to be. "Let us attend to that business you mentioned now. I will read this later in my quarters."

Josephine led the way to her office. Elsa gripped the letter, her fingers clenching down on the parchment. She did not notice the eyes of the Commander following her until she had left his field of view.

Devera… 'Task' was its literal meaning. Must, ought… Owe. Lest she forget.

_I better get a move on._

o - o - o

Elsa left the Chantry some time later, excusing herself at the first opportunity under the pretence of fatigue from travelling. She needed a plan, a way to move the Inquisition's leadership towards approaching the templars. It was a real possibility there was no further need of her once they managed to close the Breach. Now was her only time to trace Myca, as she undoubtedly was expected to return home the moment her presence was no longer required. But how was that going to happen? Currying the Commander's favour was still the first step… but progress was slow over the small moments she managed between trips. She sighed in frustration and wandered over to the new supply crates that had come in. Nothing better to focus the mind than a mindless task.

"Sterling."

She looked up from the pile of blankets she'd been sorting. Varric pushed himself up onto the box next to the one she was working on, his legs dangling above the ground.

"What's up?" he asked casually.

"What do you mean?"

She continued to work, avoiding his eyes. It was better if she didn't grow too attached. Not only did she need to focus on her goal, the amount in which she had started toning down her composure around the others during their trips was problematic. Especially around Varric it became harder to keep it up, which made switching it back on all the more challenging.

"Something happened," he stated. The observant dwarf was getting far too apt in seeing through her.

"It's nothing, Varric," she replied, looking up with a serene smile. "I'm just a little tired from our trip."

He considered her a moment. His voice was low when he spoke again. "I'm not going to ask you about anything you don't want to talk about," he said casually. "But let me give you some advice. We all have roles to play, but don't forget who you really are within them."

"How do you know who I really am?"

Her words had come out harsher than intended, but the dwarf looked unimpressed.

"I saw your face after you climbed that hill this week, not to mention when we first met. You can't tell me that you weren't happy in those moments. You're quite charming, you know, especially when you're not trying."

She glowered at him, but it only amused him further. He chuckled, then hopped off the box and motioned with his head towards the campfire.

"Come on. If you're tired, you should take a break instead of fiddling with that stuff."

She exhaled a short laugh through her nose and followed him down the steps. Sitting by the fire, he spun her a tale that made little sense. It made her laugh, in spite of herself, and lightened the heavy feeling that her mother's note had knotted in her chest. He'd just starting ramping up to a dramatic reveal, when raised voices made the dwarf pause. She followed his gaze, annoyed at the interruption, and looked over to the Chantry. A mage and a templar were close to an altercation, when the Commander stepped between them.

"Knight-Captain!"

"That is no longer my title."

The man's voice sounded agitated, insulted almost, by the mention of his former title. Though he quickly silenced the argument, the scowl that spread across his face when Chancellor Roderick appeared spelled more trouble. Elsa bit her lower lip, then got up.

"Time for me to play my role," she murmured. Varric gave her an asymmetrical smirk in response and she shot him a short smile before straightening out her face.

"Back already, Chancellor?" Cullen scoffed. "Haven't you done enough?"

The cleric clearly felt he hadn't. Cullen ordered the onlookers to make themselves scarce, perhaps to prevent the Chancellor's poison tongue from finding a willing ear, then growled another reply at the cleric's words. Clearly he had forgotten Josephine's request not to antagonise the man, or he was wilfully ignoring it. Elsa took a deep breath, then stepped forward.

"Gentlemen."

He seemed mildly startled in that way he did whenever she talked to him, though not as much as a few weeks ago. She stood next to him, clearly signalling her support while keeping a respectful distance, and focused her attention on the cleric.

"What is going on?"

"Ah, here she is," the man sneered. "The so called 'Herald of Andraste'. Perhaps you can answer better than _your templar_, my lady. How do you intend to restore order?"

"From the tone of your question it seems you are not actually interested in my answer to it, Chancellor," she said gently, with a flutter of her lashes. "But I would hope you believe me when I say that it is only my intention to help. It would be beneficial to both of us if you tell me how I might best do that, in your opinion."

Unlike the Commander, this man showcased his weaknesses quite clearly. He fumbled his words a little, before continuing his attack. She wished the Commander would keep his own expression of disbelief a little more in check, but continued to focus her attention on the man before them, feigning interest at every word he spoke.

"You… your organisation flouting the Chantry's authority is not helping matters. The best way for you to help is to cease what you are doing. The Breach, the war between the mages and templars… All this should be left to a new Divine. If you are innocent, the Chantry will establish it as so."

"Or will be happy to use someone as a scapegoat," Cullen spat, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Her hand reached out to lightly touch his bracer. He glanced down, then at her. She gave him a look that left no room for misinterpretation.

_I appreciate what you're doing, but stop it right now._

"Chancellor." She turned her attention back to the cleric. "I can only imagine the difficulties the Chantry is facing at the moment. Everyone mourns the loss of Divine Justinia and so many things we were once certain of have ceased to exist in the way that we know them. It is only natural to lash out at those around us."

"Why… Yes…"

"Once, the Inquisition worked together with the Chantry. Indeed, it is under the banner of united faith that order was brought in a time of chaos. These are the kinds of times we live in now as well. All that we have tried to do is bring some form of relief to the people who need it most. Surely this cannot be such a terrible thing, while the Chantry recovers from the terrible loss it has suffered?"

The man's already lined face crumpled like paper as he continued to stare at her.

"The Chantry will soon —"

"Oh, I am sure of it." She reached out, leaning in, and gingerly touched the man's arm with the tips of her finger. "However, for now it needs to focus on stabilising its core, does it not? Let us take care of the people and have faith in the great reputation the Chantry has always endured. There is no doubt in my mind that as soon as you are back on your feet, the people will flock to you once more. In the meantime, I do hope I can count on your support as we find a way to work together."

"I… I suppose —"

"Wonderful, I am so glad we have finally found some common ground. I will travel to Val Royeux in the upcoming days to talk to your colleagues, Chancellor. I hope to see you there as well. Now, if you please, we all have a lot of work to do."

She beamed at him in silence, signalling to the man that it was time for his departure. The Chancellor observed her a moment longer, then glanced over to Cullen. The Commander, to his credit, now managed to keep his face neutral. They watched the Chancellor leave, looking back once more before he disappeared between the houses. It would seem she had been successful in derailing his rant, if nothing else. She stared after him, filing away his criticisms of them. Without noticing it, she'd started feeling oddly protective of the Inquisition.

The Commander remained silent next to her, gears turning in his head almost audibly. She considered her next move for a moment, biting the inside of her lip. _Charming, especially when you're not trying…_ Then she relaxed her jaw, and spoke.

"Twat."

She'd loosened her voice, for once on purpose, letting her natural northern accent shine through. Cullen continued to stare into the distance a moment longer, then looked to his side. His expression was one of mystified surprise, as if he were expecting to see someone else besides them who had cursed instead. When there wasn't, he focused on her instead.

"Excuse me?"

She gave him a small sideways smile. "Don't tell me you weren't thinking something along those lines? You'll embarrass me otherwise."

"I… was. But I am surprised you were."

"Leliana did her homework, but you don't know everything about me, serah."

He answered her with the corner of his mouth quirking into a hard-earned smile. "…Clearly not."

"Let's change that, shall we?" It wasn't really a question, and she didn't require an answer. "It would be a mistake to think the Game is something that's only played in parlours and ballrooms in Orlais. Being a part of this organisation makes us players in it by default. I think we share the same sentiment about that being our situation, but there isn't much we can do to change it. So, we play."

"Do you… Do you think you changed his mind?"

"No, I wouldn't think so," she said drily. "But just because we can't change his cards doesn't mean we should show him our hand." She cast him a sideways look through her lashes. "First lesson of the Grand Game, Commander," she continued, once again donning her cultured voice. "Never let your adversary know what you are truly thinking."

She inclined her head to him, relishing the expression on his face as she turned and walked away.

o - o - o

That evening, the turnout to the Chantry was the largest it had been so far, probably due to her leaving for the capital the next morning. It was Mother Giselle who led them in prayer, though many of the eyes were upon Elsa as she stood next to her. Tonight she would spend a lot more time with them after they'd finished; talking, holding hands, or sharing the occasional hug. This part of her role here came to her with relative ease. Everyone was scared and her presence could, at least for a moment, make them feel better. As doubtful as she was that Andraste had indeed blessed her, she was not so cruel as to deprive those in need of reassurance when it cost her so little.

She was watching the last person leave the hall when something caught her eye in the shadows. A faint shimmer of candles reflecting in metal. It flickered as the wearer of the armour pushed away from the wall and came towards her.

_There we go… Progress._

"Welcome, Commander. Were you there the whole time?"

"I came in around the last verse." He halted next to her and looked up at the stone image of Andraste. "I was working until then."

The flames reflected brightly in his amber irises and picked up flecks of gold in his hair. He truly fitted the picture one associated with the words 'knight' and 'templar' perfectly.

"Do you still worship?" she asked.

From what she knew, most Circles began and ended the day with a communal prayer. It was in the mornings that the templars received their dose of lyrium from the Chantry. With his rank, he had probably administered it himself, but he likely wouldn't have skipped on the ceremony. Yet she had not seen him once at those they had held since she'd returned.

He turned to face her. "Not as frequently as I used to," he admitted. His brow pulled down slightly as he spoke the words, casting a shadow of guilt over his eyes.

"It is not something that should be forced," she replied gently.

She returned her attention to the statue, giving him a moment to himself. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he too turned back to the idol.

"You said you will be going to Val Royeux."

"Yes, it was Mother Giselle's suggestion. I think Cassandra will be happy to start working towards a more permanent solution than closing rifts all over the place."

"I have concerns."

"Fair. About what in particular?"

"It is dangerous. You said yourself you didn't change the Chancellor's mind. He is a good indication of what to expect from the other clerics. They want to see you brought to trial."

"Cassandra and the others will be with me. I think they outweigh a couple of clerics. Likely they don't dare come anywhere near me if I stay close enough to Varric's cleavage."

A small laugh escaped him. "You sound like Hawke."

"Is that a good thing?"

It took him a while to answer. "Yes… It is."

"In that case, I thank you." She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes and he returned her smile. "Anything else on your mind?"

His cuirass rose with his breath. He moved away to sit on one of the benches and rested his elbows on top of his thighs. His eyes narrowed slightly as he observed her.

"Explain to me why you think this is necessary." He looked away for a moment before adding, "… Please."

"Appealing to the clerics?" He gave a short nod in response. "Before I answer that question, will you answer one of mine?"

A deep frown lined his forehead and his eyes darted between hers. She smiled to herself. Though he might not believe her guilty anymore, he was no less cautious. It was quite adorable to watch him try to figure her out.

"Alright," he said eventually.

"Why do you ask?"

Clearly he had expected a much more diabolical line of inquiry, for he sighed with some relief.

"Because you seem to have a certain grasp on these affairs that I lack. I'd like to hear your viewpoint."

"Josephine and Leliana have a similar understanding of such matters, if not better. Doesn't it make more sense to ask them, since they are actually your peers?"

"You only get the one question," he said, holding up a warning finger. The pride in his face as he felt he'd outwitted her made her let out a short snort of laughter. He shot her a look of surprise at the sudden outburst, then joined in with a low chuckle.

"You got me," she smirked, walking over to sit down on the other side of the bench. "To answer your question, I believe it would be good for the Inquisition to at least attempt to lessen the Chantry's animosity towards us. Mother Giselle says the clerics are divided in their opinions about us. If we can sway some of them, it would strengthen the Inquisition's position."

"Won't it just lend credence to the idea that we should care what the Chantry says?"

"Shouldn't we?"

Faint lines appeared around his eyes as he thought on his reply. "All they do is argue over a new Divine and point the finger at those who actually try to help, while they ignore the Breach and the people who need them. In my opinion they have given up the right to wield any authority." She very much doubted the anger in his face was only based on the current situation.

"I would agree with you, but in the end it does not really matter."

"It doesn't matter?" His voice cut sharply through the silence.

"No, it doesn't. For the moment it is the only option we have. We need allies to close the Breach and there are none to be had as long as the Chantry uses what influence it does still have to undermine us." He continued to look at her with his brow in a furrow. "Don't worry, Commander," she smiled, relaxing her voice. "We go and play along, that is all. Worst case scenario, we get a bit of a sun on our faces and they'll still hate us when we leave."

The corner of his mouth pulled up at her accent. "Why do you do that?"

"I think you already know the answer to that, Commander," she smirked. "Don't waste a question."

"Right," he chuckled. "Do you get one for free now?"

"Of course! The Game is ruthless. I'll keep it for another time however, so I'll have a reason to talk with you."

"You… don't need a reason."

"That's good to hear." She stood up, with the Commander quickly mirroring her motion. "Will you go back to camp?"

"No." He looked back up at the face of Andraste. "I think I will stay a while."

"Very well." She took her leave with a courteous nod of her head. "I bid you a good night then, Commander."

"And you, my lady."

Her footsteps echoed faintly in the empty hall. It wasn't until she stepped out of the Chantry that she felt him draw his eyes away from her back and heard the faint rustle of his armour as he turned around.

_I look forward to playing with you again, Cullen._

o - o - o

Elsa looked with wonder at the city appearing in front of them. Massive statues rose up from the bay and golden lions sat atop pastel coloured pillars on either side of the gate. They dismounted, leaving their horses at the trading post just outside the city's border. Although the guards cast them suspicious glares when they walked under the arch leading onto the bridge, they did not attempt to stop them.

"It seems they are expecting us," Varric said, glancing back over his shoulder.

"You think?" Cassandra grunted in response.

Before he could throw her a retort, one of Leliana's scouts came running up to them.

"Lady Herald," she gasped. "The Chantry mothers await you in the market, as do a great many templars."

Templars? Elsa's ears pricked up at the word. They hadn't heard a thing about their whereabouts, despite Leliana's efforts. It took her a conscious effort not to run the distance to the square, barely noticing the shocked responses she drew from the locals. If the templars had indeed rejoined the Chantry, the Commander's concerns might very well have been more justified than she had thought. But the slight hope that she might find out something about Myca pushed away those worries, careless as it was.

She did not hear much of the words the Chantry mother was saying as her eyes drifted over the faces of the knights lined up around the podium. Most were wearing helmets, making it hard to identify them, but none of the eyes she could discern matched his. More of them approached and she scanned the new arrivals, but hope quickly got replaced with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Surely he would react if he saw her. A dull thud sounded from the stage in front of her, snapping her out of her concentration, and the cleric that had declared her a fraud collapsed to the ground.

_What in the Void?_

Cassandra's expression of disbelief mirrored her own as she listened to the Seeker's conversation with her former commander. The man's arrogance was astounding, though the Seeker's perplexed look made clear this was not the kind of behaviour she was accustomed to from him.

"Charming fellow," Varric murmured.

"This isn't like him at all," Cassandra exclaimed, shaking her head. "It's very bizarre."

"Can he be reasoned with, do you think?" Elsa asked.

"I hope so," the Seeker replied, staring incredulously towards the gate. "If not, others in the Order might be more willing to listen. They can't all feel as he does."

_I sure hope that too._

They made their way out of the city, nearly getting skewered by an arrow and invited to a soiree within a single breath. Just as they were about to leave, a voice called to them from behind. Fiona, leader of the mage rebellion, was calm and well-spoken. Elsa hid her displeasure as the elf regarded her with curiosity rather than conceit when she invited the Inquisition to Redcliffe.

_Crap… This isn't going well at all._


	5. In Name Only

Cullen groaned as he let his head roll back over the backrest of his chair. The work setup he had in his tent was far from comfortable. He wasn't one to complain, but his body protested for him anyway after spending another evening bent over reports in the rigid wooden chair. Though he had not managed to work through the heap of papers yet, he allowed himself a short break and breathed deeply as he stretched his neck from side to side. He'd have to finish.

_Do I?_

Yes, he really did.

Somewhere at the bottom of the pile were the lists of new volunteers. They'd kept coming in from wherever Cassandra and the Herald had passed by. The longer he waited on reviewing them, the longer it would take to distribute jobs to everyone. He contemplated dealing with the list and the other most urgent issues now, leaving the rest for the following night. New ones would pile up during the day, however, and he'd be kicking himself by this time tomorrow. With a sigh he pulled his head back to an upright position and grabbed the next file.

A misplaced report for the Nightingale, a letter from a noble complaining about refugees on his land, and a report on resources in the mountains later, he found something that caused him to smile for the first time that day. Lady Trevelyan's neat hand was instantly recognisable as he folded open the document. He scanned the letter briefly. Reports reached him with some delay, depending on the distance they'd come from and how much other correspondence had piled up in the meantime. This one detailed their journey to Val Royeux, but had been written before she had news on how affairs had turned out inside the capital. As such, the document was fairly light on content. He flipped it over before checking the pile for a second sheet, only to find she had not included one.

Over the past weeks, it had become harder for him to be suspicious of the survivor. Her communication was clear and eloquent whenever she informed him of situations they encountered in their travels. In her first letter, she had been quick to inquire after how a military report should be formatted. With the next, she had already adapted her writing style to what was expected of her. He'd silently wished all soldiers under his command would pick up on instructions that easily. Volunteers that arrived at camp furthermore shared stories of the silver-haired Herald nothing short of glowing, her actions in the countryside inspiring a near fanatical devotion in those she'd helped. As far as suddenly proclaimed prophets went, Elsa Trevelyan seemed to be about the best you could ask for.

He hadn't seen much of her himself. She was usually busy with something when she was in Haven, and he had been unsure what to discuss that would be of interest to her. Not to mention, what words he did find still tended to tangle on his tongue when she looked at him. That was the case at least… until recently. He stared at her signature, lost in thoughts, until he caught himself and shook his head. What was his problem? By now there seemed to be a distinct pattern to the women he was intrigued by. Powerful women, smart, educated… often mages, though at least that was not the case with the Herald. Not bad qualities in any way, but they fascinated as much as they unnerved him. Not to mention they inflamed the insecurities that had plagued him since he was a boy.

There had always been a separation between the classes within the Order. Many of the recruits joined much younger than he did, with some of them even having been promised at birth. No doubt this was the kind of family Trevelyan was from as well. Such connections lingered, despite whatever precedent the Order claimed to set. While they were supposed to shed old ties to form a unified force, the boys from more privileged backgrounds had let others feel the difference keenly. They were the ones who would return home in between training, receive gifts on special occasions, and always seemed to find themselves in higher positions just before the rest did. Cullen did not know it back then, but would learn later that on more than one occasion this was the result of hefty donations from their families. He'd worked harder than anyone to make up the difference and quickly gained the respect of his peers. For some, however, the effort he put in would never be enough. As an adult, he'd managed to work himself to a position where he could make a change to this practice, at least in his immediate vicinity. Yet no matter how much time passed, some anxieties were hard to get rid of completely. Certain women in particular had proven themselves experts at reducing him to that same thirteen year old boy all over again.

Amell — quiet, well-spoken and incredibly talented — only had to look at him and he turned into a bumbling mess. Even if fraternisation was allowed between templars and their charges, there was no way someone like her would ever go for him. It still stung to recall the things he'd said the time after she joined the Wardens. Maker only knows what the Hero of Ferelden thought of him now, assuming she would even remember him at all.

Hawke — brave, vibrant, and smart like a whip — who in a matter of years had managed to wrap the City of Chains around her finger. Despite her arriving in the Free Marches with nothing but the clothes on her back and living in the slums, there was an air of authority and confidence around her that was mesmerising. Unlike her cousin, she was very much aware of how she was regarded by the men around her, him included. She was not only at ease with that, she exploited it to perfection. She enjoyed teasing him whenever he came across her and observing the effect that it had. Although he became more desensitised to her antics over the years, the feelings the Champion of Kirkwall stirred up with her presence never completely subsided.

And now there was Elsa Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste. Another big title, one far above his own. She was calm and collected to an extent that it frightened him. Whenever he found himself observing her, she moved with such grace and elegance it didn't seem real. Among his men she was often the topic of conversation, but where in Hawke's case the tone of discussion among the templars had been downright filthy, for Elsa it was one of admiration and respect. There was another side to her, however, one that he'd only glimpsed at so far. Her voice, though still deep, was much more inviting when laced with an accent similar to the ones he'd gotten familiar with during his time in Kirkwall. He wasn't sure what to think of it. On the one hand it gave him a twinge of boy-like pleasure, thinking she might reserve that side of her for him alone. On the other… if she did, then why?

The rustling of the tent cover snapped him from his thoughts. He quickly put down her report and busied himself with a random piece of paper from the pile.

"Curly."

Varric stepped inside and leaned his shoulder against the tent's support post. A deck of cards continuously moved between his hands with a rustle, so fast that it was hard to distinguish the individual cards within it.

"Up for a break?" the dwarf asked, giving him a roguish smirk.

"Varric." Cullen leaned back in his chair. "When did you get back?"

"Just now." He pulled the angel of truth from the deck and made it disappear in the air just as quickly. "How long have you been stuck with your head in those papers today?"

Cullen tried to suppress the sigh that rose from his chest. The glint pulling across the dwarf's eyes, however, showed that he hadn't managed to hide it well enough.

"A while," he admitted.

"Come on then." Varric motioned with his head towards the exit. "You were almost getting good on the boat ride over here, and I've been getting rusty since then."

The cards flitted through the air and somehow organised themselves into a neat stack in his palm again.

"You sure look it," Cullen said drily. "Anyway, I still have a lot of work to do."

"Thought you might say that," he replied, in a way that made it very clear just how lame of an excuse he found it. "Tell you what. You come out of your cave for a moment, I get someone to drink with and unburden of a few silver, and I'll inform you of what happened in the capital while we do that. Win-win."

Cullen looked at him a while longer, tapping the tip of his quill onto the table, until he tossed it away and got up from his chair. The way his joints cracked when he did, told him it wasn't the worst idea to take a break, and perhaps the slight buzz of a beer would make the remainder of the reports easier to get through later on.

It proved to be a naive assumption. Varric was not content to release him after a single drink, and he found that it didn't take a whole lot of convincing for him to remain for another. And another after that. The pile of documents on his table did not inspire a quick return, and the few times he got close to winning a round made him all the more determined to play another. They were joined by some of the Iron Bull's Chargers and an elf that had tagged along from Orlais.

"Tit."

He glanced at the woman, who was sitting cross-legged on the table rather than on a chair. She was staring at her cards, her brow in a furrow. He wondered if she was going to follow up the word with anything else.

"She does that a lot," Varric commented, discarding a card and drawing another. "Bad hand, Buttercup?"

"Arse."

"Quite. Sterling was pretty amused by it on the way back."

"Sterling?" Cullen asked.

Varric only made a noise of confirmation, but looked back when he realised Cullen didn't know who he was talking about. "Oh, I mean Elsa."

For a moment he wondered if there was anyone left who did not call her by her first name, and if it was starting to get weird that he didn't. "Why Sterling?"

"Seems pretty obvious."

"Why not Silver, if you're going for obvious?"

"I don't 'go' for obvious, Curly. Make your move."

"Ah, sorry." Cullen discarded a dagger and picked up another card. "You're pretty obvious with mine."

"Not anymore, I have to explain it to people now. Didn't think I'd ever be embarrassed by a man's hair."

Cullen felt his face flush as the eyes around the table focused on his head. He drew the line when Sera slowly reached over to touch it.

"Can you all focus?" he asked angrily, swatting her hand away.

Varric chuckled and ended the game on his turn, taking another win with a full suit. The Chargers took their leave, swaying slightly on their feet, while Sera swore some more until her attention was drawn to one of the serving girls. Cullen looked into his drink and found that it was still half full. He decided to finish it before heading out himself, wondering how much work he'd still be able to get done. Varric remained across from him, counting his earnings.

"So why not Silver?" he asked again, watching his coins of that material disappear into the dwarf's purse.

"I can see why you would call her that," Varric smirked, taking far too much delight in not answering the question directly. "You did always put women on a pedestal."

Cullen blinked, feeling rather taken aback by the sudden comment. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The dwarf tossed his full coin purse in the air, weighed it in his hand and tucked it away. He signalled to Flissa for a new drink and another one got placed in front of Cullen as well before he could object. "You did the same with Hawke, and I dare say you did it with your Knight-Commander," he said, leaning back in his chair and nursing his tankard in his lap.

He choked on the sip of ale he'd taken.

"Meredith?" He brushed his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hardly!"

"Oh, come on. Was it just templar devotion that made you stick with that woman for so long? You knew the annulment was uncalled for."

"There was nothing between —"

"I know that, Curly. Maker's balls, can't imagine she would let anyone close to her. Might've done her a world of good though… But would you have followed her orders as long as you did, had she been a guy?"

All he could do was stare at the dwarf in disbelief. Surely, the fact that Meredith was a woman had not had any influence on him. Right? She was his commanding officer, he'd done his duty in following her. Indeed, she was such an unfeminine person, he'd hardly even thought of her as one. He just hadn't noticed how unstable she'd become until she turned on the Champion.

"Well, let's leave her out of it for the moment, 'cause you seem close to having a stroke." Varric flashed a toothy grin. "You definitely did it with Hawke."

"I hardly put Hawke on a pedestal," he scoffed.

"Oh, you don't think she is perfect, I'm sure," Varric replied airily, "but she's not trying to be perceived as such. You have no idea just how flawed she is. Anyway, returning to the lady at hand…" He took a slow sip from his drink and ran a finger along the edge of the mug, angling his head to the side as he looked him over. He had a good ten years on Cullen in age, and the dwarf managed to make it seem like those years were made of pure life experience and wisdom. "Pure silver is pretty, adaptable to many uses, and valuable."

"Seems fitting so far," Cullen grunted, increasingly annoyed by his smug expression.

"It is also soft and brittle. You've read her reports. There's more to her than that. It's insulting really, to only focus on the shine."

He frowned, letting the words sink in for a moment. "The shine is what she puts forward."

"She does, and rather expertly, I'd say. But anyone who gets as happy as she did from climbing up a sodding hill, has issues. Don't forget that people with titles are still just people."

Varric seemed sufficiently satisfied with the confused expression he'd managed to draw from him for the evening and let him mull over his words in silence after that.

o - o - o

Cullen left once he'd finished his drink. When he got up, he found out that the alcohol had hit him harder than he'd thought. He slowly made his way back to his tent, trailing a hand along the buildings or fence where he could.

His mind still objected to the dwarf's allegations concerning Meredith and Hawke. To his concern, it showed itself more receptive in processing his words about the Herald. She had another side to her, one that he'd mulled over mere hours before. And with how quickly she had adapted to the sights of war, she was clearly stronger than one would think from someone with her upbringing. He wondered how she was dealing with what Varric had told him about the templars they'd encountered in Val Royeux. At least some of them had seemed willing to believe she was the herald of Andraste, but the lord seeker's behaviour was unpardonable. He wished he'd joined them on their trip. Perhaps his presence would have made a difference, or at least he would have been able to defend her to the man. Or was thinking she needed his protection not giving her enough credit? Insulting, Varric had called it. Maker, part of him really disliked the dwarf.

Shortly before reaching his tent, he tripped over a practice sword that someone hadn't put away properly. He muttered a soft curse under his breath and placed it back on the weapon rack, before pushing away the cover and going in.

"Good evening, Commander."

He froze, one foot inside the tent and another one still in the snow, his hands lingering on the canvas. She had been standing beside his cot, turning to face him the moment he stepped inside. Her hair was loose and lay draped over one shoulder, shimmering in the light of the lantern hanging from the ceiling.

"My Lady."

He closed the tent behind him, noticing how the foot he'd left outside was freezing quickly. Why was she here? At this hour? On one of the few occasions that he was intoxicated? The Maker did like to test him, did he not? He took a deep breath, trying to will away the haze, though the shock of her sudden appearance had done some of that already.

"My deepest apologies, Commander." She bowed her head. "It is not my custom to intrude in this manner. I did not want to disturb your time off, but neither can I wait until tomorrow to discuss with you what I came here to talk about."

"Of course," he said quickly. "Ehm… please, sit. I only have the one chair…" Maker, he was even less eloquent than during the day.

"I wouldn't dare to take your chair, Commander." There was a hint of that same cheeky smile she'd given him a few times before playing around her mouth. "I am perfectly comfortable sitting on this cot, if you'll permit me."

She waited until he'd nodded and sat herself down on the edge of his bed, her back perfectly straight and her hands folded in her lap. He moved across the tent, to his relief without swaying, and sat down behind his desk.

"I hope you have not been waiting long," he said, busying himself with rearranging some of the papers.

"Not at all. We didn't get back until late and hair this long takes a while to clean. It's like wearing white, really, you can see every speck of dirt on this colour." Her voice had gone to the north-eastern accent again. He noticed how it made him a little more comfortable with the situation, though it was also confusing. He still wasn't sure if it was part of a ploy, or if this was her being genuine.

"How was your trip to the capital?" He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on his table and tried to down it as fast as he could without being too obvious.

"You were with Varric before, correct? Did he tell you?"

"He did." He refilled his glass, emptying the pitcher in the process. He'd been far too obvious, but at least the haze was lifting quickly due to the icy water. "But your version is, I imagine, more factual and less embellished."

"I think I can find a happy middle. The long and the short of it is, you were absolutely right about the Chantry and the lord seeker made a rather horrid first impression."

"Varric said a templar punched out a cleric."

"There was no need to embellish that any further, I guess."

He blinked. "You mean it's true?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Oh." He'd ignored that part of Varric's story, brushing it off as one more of the dwarf's exaggerations. "What in the Void?"

"That was my response too," she said, smiling wryly. "After all that, we were approached by the leader of the mage rebellion."

Her expression slowly darkened and she took a deep breath, before getting up to pace in front of his desk, wringing her hands together. He followed her movements with his eyes. Her usually smooth forehead was wrinkled with her frown, with a sharp, vertical edge lining the space between her eyebrows. The grey eyes flitted back and forth, picking up flecks of light that flickered in her irises. After a while, she inhaled sharply and halted, turning towards him.

"There is something I have not been honest about, Commander, and I need to tell you. The mages are willing to talk to us and the lord seeker has made it very clear that he is not. Considering that it is unlikely we'll manage to get them both on board to close the Breach, it seems the Inquisition faces a choice. With their responses being as they are, I feel its leadership might be inclined to lean towards the mages. Would you agree?"

His mind took a little longer than he liked to catch up with her words, but eventually it seemed to have processed them. It took him more effort than usual, so much that he almost didn't register the fact that he had been justified in thinking she was hiding something. He frowned and refocused his gaze on her, feeling his guard quickly reassert itself.

"I would say that is a correct assumption, although I would still like to see if we can get the templars to cooperate. Varric did mention some of the templars seemed more receptive to us."

"Indeed," she said, nodding quickly. "And I would prefer this too, for the reasons I have mentioned in the war room. I do believe it poses an extra danger to us all to involve the mages. Furthermore, trying to close the Breach was… painful. I will try it again, of course, but I'd rather do so with a weakened Breach than with additional magic. But… there is another matter."

She sighed and sat back down on the cot, though no longer with her perfect posture. Her back was rounded, her shoulders low, and it took her a while before she met his eyes again. When she did, he was surprised by how sad hers were.

"In the letter you wrote me some weeks ago, you asked me of my brothers. I have three who are in the Order. Two of them are indeed still in the Free Marches, but my youngest, Myca, has not been seen for some months." She looked away a moment and took another deep breath. "He is still a boy really, only barely out of training, but he left home some time after the Circles fell. No letter, no goodbye… one day he was simply gone. I had thought to find him at the Conclave, but didn't. I can only hope it was because he wasn't there. The only hope I have of finding him now is that he is planning to join the others marching on Therinfal Redoubt, or that he is already there."

"Why didn't you say this sooner?"

"I didn't know who I was dealing with," she shrugged. "It is not my custom to share family matters with strangers who keep me prisoner. It would make it harder to take my opinion seriously, since I have personal gain in the decision. But I wanted you to know, because if I back your opinion and it comes out later… it would harm you and our standing in the discussion."

"I see…" He considered her words for a while, sizing her up. It was not the abominable secret he had imagined she might be holding, and her expression was opener than it had ever been so far. It gave him little reason to doubt the story. "I appreciate your honesty, my Lady, but what would you have me do with it? While I do believe the templars are our better option, I do not feel comfortable keeping information from the others."

The grey eyes were fixed on his, no longer dull, but filled with anguished intent. "I will inform the others of my situation, if you prefer. I just wanted you to know first, and know that it should not invalidate my other reasons for wanting to seek out the templars. Also…" She searched his face, making him feel, once again, utterly exposed. "I had hoped you might feel more inclined to trust me… and help. Leliana is quite intent on finding the mages, Josephine is her friend, and Cassandra seems to agree with them that it is the best option in closing the Breach. You are outnumbered, Cullen."

His name rolled off her tongue, a sharp edge at the beginning and a slight drag to the consonants in the middle. He couldn't recall it ever sounding quite like that. He swallowed. "I do want you to tell them. Leliana's people might be able to help, and I don't believe they will dismiss your opinion because you are concerned about your brother. You may rest assured that I will not be persuaded to pursue the mages so easily, unless it is clearly the better option for the Inquisition."

She inclined her head. "I will inform them before the meeting tomorrow. Now, I fear you have been desiring my absence for far too long. Thank you… for understanding."

"You're welcome. Thank you for coming to me."

Her smile lifted some of the sadness from her eyes. She got up, spine straight and shoulders back, and practically glided away. At the entrance, she turned around.

"Good night, Cullen."

His own name, sounding so strangely alien, sent a trickle of electricity down his spine. He nodded in response, and she left.

"Good night," he murmured to the empty tent, "Elsa."


	6. Pleasantries Aside

The Herald kept her word. Although he was usually one of the first in the war room, when Cullen entered the next morning Elsa and the other advisers were already there.

"When did you last see him?" Cassandra asked as he walked in the room.

"Her younger brother," Josephine told him quietly when he took his position next to her. "He's missing."

"I —" He paused when he caught Elsa's eye from across the table. Her face was neutral, but there was something in the smoky eyes that caused him to reconsider. "I, eh… beg your pardon?"

"Her brother," Josephine repeated, quirking an eyebrow. "He left home."

"Yes, I'm sorry I didn't wait for you, Commander," Elsa interjected. "I've been feeling terrible about keeping this information from you, I just couldn't wait any longer." She turned her attention back to Cassandra. "It's been several months, some time before the Circles fell. My brothers used to visit home quite frequently, but as the tension between templars and mages continued to rise they were increasingly unable to do so. There were rumours of splinter groups from both factions recruiting people to their cause, but I cannot vouch for the authenticity of these stories. It seems most likely, however, that he was persuaded to leave with one such group. I can't imagine any other possibility."

Cullen stared at her, fighting to keep his own face from betraying his confusion. Why was she pretending he didn't know already? His gut stirred uncomfortably at the situation.

"What of your other brothers?" Leliana asked. "Some of them are in Ostwick, are they not?"

"Hershel is Knight-Commander of the Circle," Elsa nodded. "Casper was stationed in Starkhaven, but now serves under him. Myca was in the Ostwick Chantry, so he wasn't under their direct supervision. Neither of them knows what happened."

"The Order prefers to not place family members in the same location," Cullen added somewhat automatically, his eyes fixed on the Herald. "It helps in shedding past connections. Had there been mages among the Trevelyans, they likely would have been placed in another country."

"Right," she said, casting a quick glance in his direction before returning her focus to the others. "Neither of them was approached by any rogue templars, but… Myca is young and, with four older brothers, eager to prove himself. I can imagine he might have been persuaded to join those that felt called to a higher cause, like the ones in the capital."

"I feel for you, Elsa," Josephine said tentatively. "I do. But considering what happened in Val Royeux —"

"Indeed," Leliana added. "My reports on the templars have been… very odd. I do not know what their goal is in marching on Therinfal Redoubt, but it will take us much longer to figure it out."

Cullen continued to watch Elsa closely. Her posture was again as straight as one of her arrows, her voice contained. Her eyes were a mix of sadness and worry… but not quite like they'd been last night in his tent. She took a deep breath before speaking.

"Of course, forgive me. We should accept Fiona's invitation. It makes the most sense and my personal issues should not weigh in the decision. Nor is there any real reason to believe my brother would even be at Therinfal Redoubt."

An uncomfortable silence fell. Josephine fidgeted with the edge of the paper on her clipboard, while Leliana and Cassandra exchanged a look. While all others were shortly pointed elsewhere, the grey eyes snapped to his, silently urging him to action.

"We should look into what is going on with the templars," Cullen heard himself say. "I'm certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker."

"Or we can simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe instead," Josephine said.

The suggestion momentarily drew his attention away from Elsa and fully into the discussion. "Do you think the mage rebellion is more united?" he asked sharply. "It could be ten times worse!"

"They might be worth the risk."

"Or they could destroy us all."

"We must come to a decision," Cassandra weighed in. "And soon. The mages are powerful, but also desperate. If some of them are responsible for what happened at the Conclave —"

"The same could be said about the templars," Josephine replied.

"Fair enough," Cullen admitted begrudgingly. "Judging from their behaviour at the capital, I'm not certain we can approach the Order safely at the moment."

"I have a thought on that." All eyes snapped to the Herald again. "I hope you can look beyond my bias," she said gently, "for I think we might be able to turn the templars' public abandonment of the capital into an opportunity. Without them, the social structure will undoubtedly only unravel further than it already has in Orlais, much to the detriment of many noble houses. We have garnered many favours already and I dare say many more will pledge their support if we tell them our aim is to bring the templars back to their purpose."

"There is truth to that," Leliana mused. "And if we can gather enough of the nobility behind us, the Lord Seeker might be inclined to talk with us."

"I think so," Elsa replied. "Plus, it puts the Inquisition into a stronger position for when it has succeeded in closing the Breach. It won't do to only think of how to close it the fastest, for after it is sealed there are still many other matters that need to be resolved."

"It is worth a try," Josephine said thoughtfully, tapping the back of her quill against her lip. "Quite a few people do come to mind that would benefit from seeing the knights return to the capital."

"Then that is what we will do," Cassandra said. "We'll send word today. If the nobility do not respond favourably before the end of this week, we will head to Redcliffe."

The women quickly left the room to make preparations, Leliana pausing on the way to have a quick exchange of words with the Herald. Cullen stood frozen behind the war table, waiting until they'd gone. When they had, Elsa closed the door behind them and turned around.

"Well done, Commander," she said, letting her voice slip instantly.

"Why did you pretend you didn't tell me about your brother yesterday?" His tone was harsher than he'd meant it to be, but she didn't seem impressed.

"Because now it was only my standing that was affected, and the concerns of a worried older sister are not so very damning. Had they known I came to see you, you might be perceived as being manipulated by me."

"That is exactly what you did!" He crossed the room to stand in front of her. "You orchestrated this whole discussion!"

"Did I make you say anything you wouldn't have said otherwise?"

"Well…" He stared at her. "No. But —"

"Cullen, I did not want to blindside you with the information about my brother at the same time as the others. It would have made you doubt my intentions, which are sincere. They could not know that you knew before them, however, because then neither of our opinions would have been perceived as objective. Now you were able to offer up the fact that we needed more influence to approach the Order, without it looking like I asked you to say that, and I could suggest my plan in a way that wasn't too pushy."

"This isn't right."

"We got the outcome you wanted, didn't we? Or a shot at it, at least. What's the problem?"

"We're working together here," he said sharply, gesturing towards the table. "You don't believe honesty important in that?"

"I have not been dishonest," she shrugged. "I didn't lie, I merely made sure the information was presented in the way that best suited our purpose."

"You did lie, in pretending you didn't tell me last night."

"I only said I felt bad for hiding it and couldn't wait any longer in telling."

"Don't get smart with me!"

"Being smart is all I've got." A sudden glint pulled across the muted grey, making him pull back. It was gone an instant later. She took a deep breath before continuing. "I thought of telling you what I was planning, but I wasn't sure if you could or would be willing to play along. Had we both walked in here advocating to approach the templars after I informed you of my plight, this conversation might've turned out very differently. I did not want to take that risk. No harm is done. We try to get the templars and if we can't get the nobility behind us, we go to the mages after all. Can you live with that?"

There was no fault with her logic that he could see, but her explanation left him with a sour taste in his mouth nonetheless. He wasn't sure what bothered him more, her behaviour or the fact that she had managed to unwittingly involve him in it.

"No more, you hear me?" he asserted. "These are good people. I will not be drawn into these games."

"I told you already, Cullen…" Her lips curled into a slight smirk. "You are part of the games, whether you want to or not. You should be happy to have me on your team."

"We are not a team! Not if you pull this kind of thing!"

She merely blinked. "It wasn't my intention to upset you," she said eventually. "Not operating alone… it's a new experience for me."

The eyes darted between his own, unreadable as ever. There were tiny flecks of green and blue in them, sparking like sunlight on a stormy ocean. He suddenly realised how close he'd gotten to her for being able to see them. He cleared his throat and straightened himself up, taking a step back to rest against the edge of the war table.

"Let's just hope your plan works."

"I'll make it work," she said simply.

A bright smile lit up the rest of her face, unlike any he'd seen from her so far. It was hard not to return it, though he managed to control himself. Part of him did not want to like this woman, but something about her did not seem to leave him much of a choice. She turned around and gracefully swept from the room, leaving him to stare at the door when it swung shut behind her.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

Elsa watched the flock of ravens until it had disappeared behind the mountains. Forty-three they had sent out, to every noble house in Orlais that was important enough to make an impact. She had contemplated contacting the smaller ones, of which there were a ridiculous amount, but with all the feuds between different families they had decided against it for most of them. Furthermore, the 'true' nobility did not like to be clumped together with newly acquired titles and money.

"Our messages will reach their destinations before the end of the day," Leliana said, also looking in the direction of where her animals had gone.

"It is quite remarkable, how you've trained those birds."

"Few are intelligent enough that they can be trained to find a specific target, like the ones we used to communicate with you while you were out in the Hinterlands. But yes, it is remarkable."

Elsa returned her smile, pondering what her standing with the bard was at the moment.

"If you don't mind my asking… why is it your preference to seek out the mages?"

Leliana considered the question, perhaps in earnest. Although their conversation techniques were the same, Elsa found recognising when they were used against her more challenging than applying them herself. It was a testament to the bard's skill. "Solas is the most knowledgeable about the Breach," she said eventually. "He believes it is our best chance of succeeding. I believe him."

"I do not doubt Solas, but the Commander is just as convinced the templars can help. Why would you trust an apostate you know nothing of over someone who has been with the Order for most of his life?"

"You seem quite fond of our Commander."

"And you are deflecting."

"And now you are."

They shared a short laugh. Elsa drew up her scarf a bit higher against the wind, thinking. "I appreciate the Commander. He's an honest and devoted man…" She paused, his expression after the morning meeting suddenly sharp in her mind. "He's a rare bird."

"He is," Leliana agreed. "Do not get me wrong, I support our current plan. Your reasoning is sound and the templars' behaviour should be looked into. But the Commander has a past… and it does not make him objective in regards to the mages."

"From what I heard of Kirkwall, he has plenty of reason to."

"Not Kirkwall."

Elsa raised her eyebrows and waited for her to continue, but the Spymaster sighed and averted her eyes.

"You should ask him if you want to know more, though he doesn't seem inclined to talk about it."

"Ah, I'm sorry. It was not my intention to gossip."

"That's alright. How about I tell you of my own dark past instead?" The lightness of her expression made the intimidating Spymaster suddenly seem like a young girl.

"Can I handle your dark past, I wonder?" Elsa smirked, her opinion of the redhead quickly improving.

"Perhaps not," she chuckled. "But I will tell you that it is not right, the way mages have been treated for years and years. Had my love not been recruited into the Grey Wardens, she might have been stuck in a tower for all her life. If you ever meet her, you'll see the very notion is repulsive."

Elsa took a long breath and returned her attention back to the village. Messengers were running up and down, soldiers went through drills beyond the wall, and an increasing amount of merchants had flocked to their location to do business with the Inquisition and its increasing number of followers. It wasn't merely a small army anymore. It was a community and everyone had their function within it.

"Have you had a bad experience with mages?" Leliana asked quietly.

Elsa glanced at her from the corner of her eyes. The Spymaster was observing her, her piercing eyes showing a soft concern. "No," she replied, shaking her head. "But many people don't get to choose how they live. There is no one faction to blame for current events, but it is very hard to reconcile what I've seen in the valley with whatever suffering mages have incurred in the past."

Whatever Leliana's thoughts were did not reflect in her face, as was to be expected of a bard of her calibre. She inclined her head to signal the end of the discussion and both women returned their attention to the camp before them.

"I am sorry for keeping information from you," Elsa said after a while. "Thank you for not holding it against me."

"Oh, of course not," she said lightly. "It was my failure to not uncover it before. Clearly my Ostwick network needs strengthening."

"There is not a whole lot to know usually, unless you're particularly interested in farming."

"Deep knowledge of that might be very useful, depending on the situation."

"I haven't found it yet," Elsa laughed. "But I'll gladly educate you, if you think it worthwhile."

o - o - o

It had been an interesting day. She closed the door of her cabin, shutting out the cold draft behind her. Her conversation with Leliana had not gone on for much longer, as both were quickly called to their respective duties. More refugees had arrived, supplies needed to be logged and distributed, and she'd helped out in serving up dinner. The evening prayer session had run long again as well. By the time she had extinguished the last candle in the Chantry, the village was sound asleep.

She shed some of the many layers she wore around the cold mountain village and stood still for a moment… before taking a small sprint across the room and jumping onto the bed. It creaked under her weight, softly bouncing back up. She stretched against the thick fur serving as the topmost blanket. It was soft and warm, and slowly helped in dissipating the tension from her back and shoulders. The long hairs tickled her face. They reminded her of the hunting hounds back home.

After some time she turned on her back and looked up at the ceiling. There was no guarantee… but there was a chance. It was too early to celebrate. The nobility might not agree, nor was it certain that Myca even was at Therinfal Redoubt. But it was the closest she'd gotten to finding him so far.

After leaving the Commander's tent the night before, she'd hardly slept. Instead, she had sat on the edge of her bed, going through possible versions of the morning meeting in her head and figuring out the best course of action. It had gone as well as it could have, and the Inquisition's leaders had been more understanding than they had been in many of her imagined versions of them. Still, she didn't regret the way she had decided to handle the conversation. At least she wouldn't have, if not for the look on Cullen's face after.

If Leliana's composure had shown any cracks, it was when she mentioned his past. Elsa couldn't deny that it intrigued her, though it was unlikely he'd ever tell her about it. There had been a disturbing hardness in the amber eyes when he'd come up to her in the war room. Part of her was annoyed by how his response was dampening what had felt like a small, yet nonetheless very real victory. Yet it was overshadowed by a lingering guilt at tricking him and even more frustration at why her own reasoning did not manage to get rid of it.

She sighed deeply, got up, and grabbed her coat. A sharp draft came in when she opened the door again. She wrapped the thick felt close around her. A faint mist of snow was falling softly, leaving a fresh powder on the paths and frozen dirt. Elsa made to head towards the training grounds, not exactly sure yet as to what she would do there, when her attention was drawn to the other side of the village. The Chantry door was ajar and a faint light shone from within. She frowned, wondering whether she had forgotten to extinguish a torch, when a shadow moved inside.

The Commander's silhouette was visible in the dark, outlined by the few candles he had lit in the alcove that housed Andraste's statue. He was kneeling, his head bowed low, his hands clasped together in front of him. She hesitated a moment, but then walked over and knelt down beside him. He looked up shortly when she did, before turning his attention back to his prayers.

Her voice joined his. He had chosen the canticle of trials. It wasn't one she recited often, though it was more fitting in her current situation than ever before. He was silent for a while after they'd finished. She waited for him to break his pose before she did, seating herself in a more comfortable position and fanning out her skirt around her.

"I'm sorry to disturb you."

"You didn't," he replied, eyes shifting between hers. To her relief, they did not seem angry any longer. "How come you're here? Was the evening service not fulfilling enough?"

"It was for me, not sure the Maker agrees," she smiled, gesturing upwards. "I was looking for you actually."

"Oh? How come?"

She looked away. Apologies, sincere ones at least, were not something she was particularly practised in. Her attention was drawn to the door at the end of the hall, behind which the other leaders of the Inquisition were asleep. All seemed quiet, so she turned her attention back to him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "For this morning."

He looked at her a moment, slowly leaning back against the wall. "About what in particular?"

As she pondered that question, it became clear why the apology was difficult for her. Honestly, she hadn't done anything wrong, not really.

"For making you feel I tricked you."

He huffed a short laugh. "So you're not apologising for your actions, but how I felt about them?"

_Oh no… he's learning._

"That's not how I meant it."

"You probably don't mean half of what you say, but in this case I think you knew exactly what you were doing." Despite the accusation in his words, his expression was not angry. "I'll admit, I might have overreacted a bit. But I'll tell you why the meeting bugged me, if you want."

"… Please."

He nodded, turning his head to search the air for words. Half of his face was shrouded in darkness, the other unevenly lit by the dancing flames. "You said you've heard stories of Kirkwall."

"I have. Many spoke positively of you and how you handled the aftermath of the explosion."

"They shouldn't have." There was a sharpness in his tone that made it clear this wasn't simple modesty, false or otherwise. The same annoyance was present as the time someone had used his old title and the shadows in his face seemed to grow darker before her. He sighed and closed his eyes. "The way we treated mages… All I did after the explosion, was try to make up for what I was a part of before. I will spare you the details. Although I do not believe it justified the eventual outcome, I take no pride in any part of it."

He reopened his eyes, amber irises fraught with emotion. Her heart skipped a beat.

"I was in control of my own actions, so I don't blame Meredith for it all. But she took advantage of… certain circumstances. If I did question her methods, she hid information from me. When I left the templars, I told myself I would not let that happen again."

_Shit…_

"I do not believe your intentions to be malignant," he continued, "and I am pleased we are trying to reach the Order before turning to the rebel mages. Had you not done what you did, Cassandra might have already dragged you off to Redcliffe. But I believe in the people here. While we don't always agree, we are doing this together."

She took a deep breath, steadying the unexpected trill in her chest. "I am sorry," she said quietly. "For manipulating the situation… and putting you in a position that made you uncomfortable. Perhaps I was being too distrustful of the others… We didn't start on the best terms and I am not used to working together with people. It won't happen again."

"… Thank you," he replied, inclining his head to her. "I appreciate that."

They sat in silence for a while, watching each other with a new comfort settling in. She felt herself smile under that realisation and was glad to see he returned the gesture.

"I would like to use my question now," she said after a while, relaxing her shoulder against the wall.

"I'm sorry?"

"You still owe me the answer to a question, from before we left. Unless you're no longer up for any games at all."

"Right," he chuckled. "That one is okay. Go ahead."

"All right…" She looked at him for a moment, considering the options. Nothing too serious or personal after the morning, but still something interesting. Her eyes drifted to his cloak, its hairs not unlike the fur on her bed. "Did you have a pet when you were growing up?"

He stared at her, then let out a short bark of laughter. It tapered off into a deep, warm chuckle.

"Maker," he said softly.

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just expecting you to use that question for something more… devious."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing," he replied, the corner of his mouth still pulled up in a smirk.

"That's good then." She leaned her head against the stone, her lack of sleep slowly catching up to her. "So… pets?"

"Right…" he nodded. "We had a couple of dogs. Mangy things, but they helped in herding the sheep."

"Your family are farmers?"

"They were, before the Blight. Just a small flock, but enough to make a living." He reached behind him to scratch the back of his neck. "How about you? Pets, I mean."

"The usual. Well, usual for my kind of family, I guess. Horses… dogs for the hunt. Myca and I would sneak into the kennels to play with them. They are working animals, so we weren't supposed to," she chuckled. "We'd get filthy too. The servants tried to cover for us, but my mum would usually find out anyway."

"Was that a problem?"

"Not so much for him, though she didn't think it was safe. She's quite… protective. For my part, rolling around on the ground with a pack of hounds is simply not very ladylike."

"It would be difficult to picture you like that."

"Are you trying?"

"… Maybe."

They kept their voices low to not disturb their surroundings, but she didn't fail to notice how much she enjoyed the warm sound of his laughter. It died down after a short while, though the smile lingered on his face until she spoke again.

"Was it a good life? Growing up the way you did?"

"It was. But I didn't consider farming very interesting," he replied, smiling apologetically.

"It can be… though I guess my perspective is quite different. Our fields largely produce wheat, though we have some tenants who keep goats, I believe."

"You believe?"

"I try to stay informed," she shrugged, "but it's not something I am meant to concern myself with. Management of the estate is up to my father and eldest brother."

He frowned. "What are you meant to concern yourself with?"

"Oh, charity work, social events… those kinds of things." The answer did not seem to satisfy him much, for his brow remained knotted. "Basically," she heard herself say, "I wait around until the day I marry."

The golden eyes searched hers, rapidly moving between them. "I don't know you very well, Elsa," he said softly. "But you do not strike me as the type who waits around."

His smile was warm, his expression gentle… She felt herself mirror it without thinking. They sat there a while longer, talking quietly in tranquillity. Eventually he noticed her stifle a yawn and offered to walk her back to her cabin.

The wind had continued to grow stronger. She shivered, wrapping her body with her arms. Not a moment later, she was startled by a thick fur landing on her head. She pushed it back so it lay over her shoulders and looked over to the side, momentarily confused by the new silhouette of the Commander without the cloak to outline his broad shoulders.

She pulled the fur close around her. It could be considered a bit much with how close her cabin was, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Some of the suitors she'd had over the years could learn a lesson or two in chivalry from the man walking beside her. The hairs were even softer than the fur on her bed and she realised the warm, earthy smell that reached her nose was his; comforting and intoxicating at the same time. A rush of warmth spread across her face. She thanked the Maker for the overcast night to keep it from showing.

They halted outside her door and stood silent for a moment, until she pulled off the cloak and handed it back to him.

"Thank you."

"No problem." He threw it back over his own shoulders, but didn't bother to fasten it. "You should get inside, it's below freezing out here."

"Yes, of course." She opened the door and stepped inside. "When we gather the support we need to approach the templars," she said hesitantly, turning around, "will you be able to go with us?"

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "There is a lot to do here… but Rylen would be able to manage. Would you prefer I did?"

"I would," she nodded. "Templars are not… I mean, the templars we saw in Val Royeux were not particularly fond of me. Let's be honest, backing from the nobility won't make me a warrior. I would feel more secure if you were there."

"In that case, I will most certainly join you." He inclined his head and stepped back. "Good night, Elsa."

"Good night, Cullen… and thank you."

"And you," he said, a small smirk playing with his scar. "For giving us the chance."

She watched him until he'd gone and went inside. There had been no fire in her cabin and the air within was almost as cold as the one outside. Her hands trembled as she undressed and changed into her nightgown. She got into bed, wrapping the fur tightly around her, the smell of his cloak lingering in her memory.


	7. Under Her Armour

The first raven returned a day later, quickly followed by another. Then, for what seemed the longest time, there was silence. Cullen constantly caught himself glancing at the sky, searching the horizon for any specks that could be carrying a reply to one of their letters. During a sparring match his attention got pulled away by the rustling of wings, which left him open for Rylen to give him an impressive whack with his sword. The noise turned out to be a bird of prey snatching a nug from the ground. Cullen stared resentfully at the hawk as it flew off, rubbing his arm where a bruise was undoubtedly forming.

It soon became clear he wasn't the only one preoccupied with the ravens. Whenever he saw Elsa talking to someone — or rather, someone talking to her — she appeared challenged in keeping up her usual polite demeanour. Her eyes kept darting towards the mountains and she only seemed to be hearing half of the conversation. Other times she was logging supplies or gathering herbs and she would freeze mid-motion as her gaze was drawn to the sky, while her hands and whatever she was holding hung suspended in limbo in front of her. On occasion she would catch his eye after one of these instances and smile at him, before quickly restoring her usual serene countenance.

After their talk, he no longer resented her for the way she had handled the meeting. In fact, he now noticed an odd, though not unwelcome change in how he regarded the Herald. Reluctant as he was to admit it, it was quite clear that Varric hadn't been wrong in what he told him in the bar. He had allowed himself to be influenced by the persona she put forward. It seemed unlikely a man would have had the same effect on him, however good looking or charming. Perhaps he had done the same with… He quickly shook the thought. The dwarf might've been right about Elsa, but there was no reason to go overboard.

It wasn't right to say the Free Marcher had lost her shine. She was still graceful, intelligent, definitely attractive… but it was easier for him to identify the cracks in her posture, the little glimpses of the person behind the silver facade. He wondered if they had always been easy to spot and he simply hadn't been able to see them, or if she was less bothered in hiding them now. It soon became an amusing diversion to watch her as she went about her business. The grey eyes glazed over ever so slightly, her smile frozen in place, as she listened to Adan complain about supplies. Then there was the tiniest of quirks from an eyebrow when someone made a suggestion she didn't agree with, before she delicately changed their mind to be more in line with her own. And after one of the evening prayer sessions he caught her closing her eyes with an air of desperation as one of the attendees grabbed her hands and wouldn't let go. The old woman was a tiny thing, all bent over and crooked with eyes that slightly bulged out of their sockets. Clearly she took great solace in their Herald, but Cullen was grateful he wasn't the person on the receiving end of her gratitude. He watched Elsa's chest rise, almost unnoticeable, in a deep, contained sigh. Their eyes met from across the room, and a devious smile tickled the corners of her mouth; a silent vow that she would get back at him at some point for enjoying her plight.

He tried to join the prayer sessions now, if he could. When he first began serving in Kirkwall they would start the day with communal prayer, but Meredith had phased it out over the years as her fear of allowing the mages to congregate had trumped her religious devotion. He'd gotten used to saying his prayers by himself. He preferred it now, but Cassandra had argued that the Inquisition's leadership should join the congregation when they could. Strengthening bonds was the official reason, though she likely also wanted to limit any rumours that would make them come across as the heretics they were widely believed to be. Cullen had intended to ignore the request, until Elsa stopped him on his way to the war room soon after.

"I noticed you scowling." She was busying herself with exchanging the burned out candles for fresh ones. "You don't think it's reassuring for the people to see their commander with them during mass?"

"That's not the point."

"I get that, but it doesn't change that it is comforting for them." She glanced around to determine the Chantry was empty besides them, before unceremoniously flinging the bag of candles into a corner. "If you have strong objections then don't do it, but no one expects anything in particular from you. You can just sit back and take a nap if you want."

She began pushing one of the benches to position it for the evening session. The wood scraped across the stone floor, making the hair in the back of his neck stand on end. The corner soon got caught on a tile. She threw her weight against it, trying to move it along.

"You'll destroy the Chantry doing that."

He put down the scrolls he'd been carrying and picked up the other end of the seat. She threw him a sceptical smirk, but lifted her end as well.

"Thanks," she said as they put it into place, dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief. "I usually manage though and the Chantry is still standing."

"No reason to test your luck." He walked over to the next one. "So you think it's more beneficial for the Inquisition if I sleep for an hour in the Chantry than spend that time doing my job?"

"People like you, Cullen, but they can't relate to what you do," she grunted, picking up her side of the heavy seat. "I am part of the meetings, and _I_ don't even fully grasp all the things you busy yourself with. Seeing you out of the training grounds for a bit makes people feel you are a part of them."

"I need to keep a certain distance. It's important to keep the command structure working."

"No one expects you to exchange teary-eyed hugs with your soldiers. Just sit in a pew for a while, catch up on rest if you want." They put down the bench with a dull thud. She straightened her back and ran a hand through her hair, breathing in deeply. "That's not so terrible, is it?"

It wasn't, and after that he did find himself making more of an effort in attending. He didn't always join in the words, but enjoyed the calm in listening to Mother Giselle speaking them. Afterwards he would help Elsa clean up, in spite of her objections, and the night would end with him walking her back to her cabin. Some nights they continued the question game, while on others they remained silent. Regardless, he felt himself growing a little more comfortable around her each time.

Time had passed quickly and the moment of truth had arrived before he knew it. Elsa was already in the war room, despite him being early. For once, her usual poise was largely non-existent. She was pale as a sheet and greeted him with an unsure smile that dissipated quickly. Her tension was palpable in the air, so thick he could feel it crawling under his own skin. She was never still, picking up tokens from the war table and placing them down again, taking a few steps towards the door and quickly retracing them, and sitting down on the edge of the table for a moment, before jumping back up like she'd sat down on the end of a morning star. He observed her, adjusting the tokens on the map whenever she put them back in the wrong place, wondering how he could calm her down.

"What was the latest score?"

"Seven rejects, three in support." She spoke quickly, as if she'd recounted the numbers a million times in her head. "A bunch of non-committal shite from many of the others. Likely they're all waiting to see what the rest will do."

She'd gotten her hands on one of his reports now and started wringing the paper in her hands. A sharp pang sprang to life in his chest at the sight of it, but he wrestled it back down. "You spend too much time with Sera," he said, in an attempt to lighten her mood and distract himself from the abused parchment.

The comment earned him a laugh that he hadn't quite gotten used to yet. It was a peculiar sound; deep, like her voice, with a slight huskiness to it. What made it strange, however, wasn't the tone, but rather the openness of it. It was day and night from the constrained chuckle she'd only shown before.

"She brings a whole new branch of linguistics with her, that one. Quite refreshing." She then looked down at her hands, staring at the report as if she'd only just realised it was there. "Maker," she said, quickly putting it on the table and flattening it out with her hands. "Sorry about that."

"That's okay." The apologetic smile she gave him was enough to make him mean it. "Are you alright?"

"Nervous," she murmured, rolling up the scroll and placing it back on the pile. Her breath was shallow, as if she were only using the upper most part of her lungs.

"We can still find your brother, you know." He picked up the pile of papers and moved them to the other side of the war table, for her fingers once again seemed to be searching for something to channel their unrest into. "No matter the outcome."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, before opening them again. "No," she sighed. "I appreciate the gesture, but a deal is a deal. I'm aware of our resources. If we don't get the support, we'll need to focus what we've got on the mages and the Breach." She held his gaze. Slowly, unfurling over the span of a minute, something emerged that went beyond the mere worry for a sibling. Her voice was small when she spoke again, instantly evaporating what little had remained of her confidence. "Will the templars we have be able to make that any safer?"

He swallowed. The answer was 'no', but he didn't want to tell her that. He didn't understand the magic behind the Breach or her mark. He wasn't even completely sure the templars could do what he had promised the others, though he didn't let himself doubt that belief. Should they fail to get their support and enlist the mages, however, Solas had made it clear just how many of them were needed to power the mark. There was no doubt whatsoever that the handful of templars he had could do nothing for her while she was the centre of that much magic.

She waited for his response, but his silence became the answer. She nodded and lowered her gaze to the table, to the point where a dagger was sticking out from their current location. Then, something interesting happened. He watched as she let her eyes fall closed again. She inhaled deeply, pushing back her shoulders. Another long breath, accompanied by a slow roll of her head going from chest to shoulder, all the way back, over her other shoulder and back to her chest. The breathing continued, growing longer with every exhale. Gradually, the blood returned to her cheeks and her hands stopped trembling. When her eyes opened again, it happened slowly, as if she were waking from a long slumber. All fear had vanished, any trace that she'd been upset gone. She raised her head and looked him in the eye, while he continued to stare at her.

"What?"

"That's… impressive." He cocked his head to the side, sizing her up. Her posture was straight again, hands neatly folded in front, her regal air restored. The young woman who had looked scared for her life had disappeared as quickly as she had surfaced, buried under years of training. Impressive was one word for it. Disturbing another.

"At this point, my fate lies in the hands of the Inquisition." A wry smile curled around her lips. "No point in panicking over it. I trust you'll try your best."

He wasn't sure how to reply to that, and felt quite relieved when the door opened and the others joined them. Leliana looked contemplative, but Josephine nearly ran towards Elsa, waving a letter in her hand.

"We've got Lord Abernache!" she squealed. "His raven arrived ten minutes ago!"

Elsa stared at her, blinked, then took the parchment being shoved in her face. "What did you have to promise him?" she asked as she let her eyes fly over the document. "I thought for sure he'd turn us down."

"Oh, nothing too abhorrent," the Ambassador replied. There was a deviousness to her smile that Cullen found worrying. "I may have made our case seem a little bit stronger than it actually was. It was enough to pique his interest. And a friend of a friend might need to endure some grandstanding from his nephew at the next soiree."

"Josie, you are a treasure," Elsa said, smiling broadly. "So, does this mean…?" Her attention moved to Leliana as her voice trailed off.

The Spymaster waited a moment, then nodded. "With Abernache's support, we easily have the backing of ten notable houses," she said. "I would have liked more, but it should be enough to get the Lord Seeker's attention."

"If we are all in agreement, we will ask them to meet us here," Cassandra added. "Once everyone has arrived, we will move on to Therinfal Redoubt."

Everyone nodded their consent and the atmosphere in the room shifted, going from tense anticipation to careful optimism. Cullen kept glancing towards Elsa during the remainder of the meeting, but she kept her composure throughout. They rapidly worked through their weekly updates and within half an hour the women left the room again to send out more letters to their new allies. Elsa remained behind with him, her body erect and her eyes fixed on the door until it fell shut. The moment it did, she turned towards the table and rested her hands on the surface for support. A deep, shaky breath broke free from somewhere deep inside of her.

"Are you alright?" Cullen asked.

"Yeah," she breathed. She straightened herself up, meeting his eyes with an expression that sent his heart pounding.

Solona Amell had a sweet smile; polite, considerate, yet always a little distant. Hawke had her defiant grin, imbued with a know-it-all, mocking quality. Other girls had smiled at him over the years, often while fluttering their lashes, and generally made him feel extremely uncomfortable. None of those could have prepared him for the smile Elsa was giving him now.

All her masks had vanished, melted away like snowflakes in the sun. Sheer joy was radiating from her, the coloured flecks of her irises suddenly outweighing the grey as they sparkled brightly in the dim light. Woven in with her cheer was relief and, when she continued to look at him, gratitude.

"Thank you," she sighed. "Sincerely, I…" She laughed, in that strangely tantalising, husky manner. "I know I acted all confident a week ago, but when the ravens kept coming back with nothing… It's been stressful."

"I didn't do much," he said, automatically reaching for the itch in the back of his neck. "It's Josephine, Leliana and you that made it happen. And we're not there yet. The templars might not agree, and we don't know if your brother is there —"

He stopped talking when she laughed again. "You're being a bit of a buzzkill, you know?" she said, grinning widely. "Take your credit where it's due, Cullen. If you hadn't advocated for the templars from the beginning, we'd be swarmed with mages by now."

She pushed herself up from the table and he watched her walk around the room. Her movements were restless again, but this time from an inability to express her excitement rather than ill-contained nerves. There was a spring to each step and the corners of her mouth kept twitching up, while her eyes darted around the room.

"We'll have to clean up the camp," she said, beginning to count an invisible checklist on her fingers. "Some of the supporters live only a few days away. It might be enough time for Threnn to arrange those new weapons for the troops. And I'll need to have something else to wear…" Her attention was shortly drawn back to him. "Nah, you're fine, just polish it up a bit. We'll need different food, of course, and I'll have to see about…"

Her voice trailed off, though her lips continued to move without producing sound as she added points to her mental list. She kept moving about the room, aimlessly, yet with an air of extreme determination.

"Maybe we can put on a demonstration with the new horses?" he added.

"Right," she said, punctuating the word with a jab of her finger, "Good one."

"Varric could host a book signing."

"Yes, his work has always been much discussed at social events. We should let them know he's here, so they can bring their own copies."

"Perhaps my men should dress up and sing a song, while Cassandra and Leliana sit on those Mabari statues next to the staircase to welcome our guests."

"A hymn would probably be —" She suddenly halted and stared at him, rolling her eyes. "Ha… ha…"

"Not very ladylike, you know…" He crossed his arms as he sat himself down on the edge of the table. "Telling a knight he doesn't keep his armour clean enough."

An impish smile twisted around her mouth. "Not very knightly to miss a spot, serah," she said smugly, tapping a finger against his bracer.

He angled his arm to look at it. It wasn't stained, but he hadn't gotten around to fixing the claw mark it had received after the Breach opened. It ran across the emblem, effectively cutting the flaming sword in half in a jagged slash.

"Ah… Right, I could get that repaired."

"Actually…" she murmured, angling her head as she observed the mark. "Maybe not. It's sort of dramatic, with the sword and everything. I think that will have a lot more impact than if we try to sell you as some sort of peacock chevalier. Roguish, hardened veteran… that should do well."

He stared at her. "Sell me?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded. "Surely you've picked up a few cues from silently enjoying my performance this week. There will be ladies among our entourage, so it's time to use those other Maker given assets besides your sword arm and strategic mind."

It took a while for him to realise his mouth was agape. The first few words that made it past his tongue were nothing more than unintelligible stutters, until finally he managed to object. "I… I won't be used for —"

She broke out in another burst of laughter and continued until tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Her body shook and she wrapped her arms around herself, as if she were afraid she might fall apart under the outburst.

"Maker, your expression," she squealed. "You look positively terrified."

"I am! Seriously, don't do that!"

She inhaled deeply to catch her breath. Her laughter slowly ebbed away, though it took a while for the sudden shakes in her chest to completely disappear. "I won't," she said eventually. "But there will be ladies there and you will likely pique their interest, so be prepared for that."

He sighed. "I will have my bracer repaired."

"I just said that to yank your chain. They'll be all over you either way, unless you put a bag over your head."

"Maybe I'll do that then," he grunted. "So, are you to be swarmed by the men? You're… attractive."

A small smile tugged on the corner of her mouth. "Thank you… Men tend to swarm less though, and I can always play the holy card. Andraste's Herald has no time for such worldly things."

He huffed a laugh, and they fell silent. Eventually she looked away, suddenly very interested in a crack between the floor tiles. She prodded at it with her toes.

"Thank you, Cullen," she said suddenly, looking back up. He couldn't quite get over how she pronounced his name yet. It somehow made it sound a lot more exotic than it had a right to be. "Even if you think you didn't do anything. A chance to find Myca and close the Breach without… It means a lot to me."

"You're… you're welcome."

She continued to look at him, a silent intent lingering on her face. For a moment she seemed on the verge of stepping in closer, shifting her weight to her toes to a point of almost tipping over her balance. A moment later he wondered if he'd imagined it, for she had retreated almost imperceptibly again. His own body stiffened as he waited for it to happen again, but she remained where she was. Suddenly, it had gone completely. The intent vanished with a blink of her eyes and a serene smile spread across her face.

"I should get started on work," she said calmly. "I'll see you later?"

He nodded, and she spun round on her heel, gracefully gliding from the room. He sat there a while longer, thinking. Soon their camp would be filled with Orlesian nobles that would probably make him wonder how he ever could have found Elsa's behaviour troublesome. Furthermore, over the next few days she and the others would be rummaging through his camp to make it and his men more presentable.

Then there was the fact that Elsa Trevelyan, with her sudden shifting moods and trained restraint was undoubtedly one of the most confusing people he'd ever met…

… and now he wanted to kiss her.

It was going to be a trying couple of weeks.


	8. Motto of the Wise

"Beaudin?"

"Roger Fernandus Beaudin. First of three brothers, sole beneficiary when his father passed. Second brother a drunk, do not mention. Third is the third, so not important enough to mention. Has been pursuing the Lady Martel — did we put them in adjacent cabins?"

Josephine nodded, not taking her eyes off the documents in front of her. Varric glanced at both of them and moved the flashcard to the back of the stack.

"I think you got that one. Gilliard?"

"Lady Esmeralda Godiva Gilliard, Dowager Countess of Haye Manor," Elsa rattled off. "Very rich, very stingy, except when it comes to entertaining her gentlemen callers. At least thirty years younger than her, usually not lasting longer than a couple of months each. Show me the picture?"

Varric rummaged in the box of documents they'd gathered on their impending guests. He pulled out one of the dusty tomes on blood lines and lineages in which most of their new allies could be found and held up the page from which the nymphomaniacal elderly lady was making eyes at the reader from her portrait. Elsa leaned in to see it better. The woman had a puffy face, like a toad. Even though the picture was without colour, she could easily imagine the gaudy shades of her thick rouge and eye make-up.

"Right. For some reason I keep mixing her up with Duchess Goldain."

"Don't let her hear that," Vivienne said sharply. "And try to stand still, dear."

"Sorry," she replied, quickly straightening back up. "Next one?"

She waited for Varric to continue, while Vivienne pointed out directions to the seamstress working on the hem of her dress, but he didn't. Instead, he looked at the picture of the amphibian woman, a mischievous smirk creasing the corners of his eyes.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, pulling up an eyebrow.

"Oh… Nothing much," he said loftily. "Is she bringing a plus one?"

Josephine grabbed the list of expected arrivals and let her eyes fly down the page.

"No," she said, returning to the document she'd been working on, "She's alone."

"Really?" Varric murmured. "Interesting."

"Why?" asked Elsa. "Are you looking for a patroness?"

"Maker's ass, not me. But I wouldn't mind pointing her in the direction of a certain someone who's at fault for me having to spend the next few days signing books for hoity-toity nobles."

Vivienne pulled up her nose at his language, but glanced over in interest. "Don't you think the poor Commander will be miserable enough as it is already?" the mage replied, an amused smile curling around the corners of her mouth.

"He said it as a joke, you know," Elsa sighed. "I'm the one who actually let them know you're here."

"Actually, it was me," Josephine added. "Though it is a marvellous idea… most uncharacteristic of Cullen."

"Well, yes," Varric nodded. "But Curly is so much more fun to mess with than either of you."

Elsa rolled her eyes. Likely the Dowager would spot Cullen well enough without the dwarf's help, but she still regretted telling Varric the suggestion had been his. She felt bad enough about what they'd been putting him through over the past days, and she didn't like the idea of him having to fight off an elderly woman in heat on top of that. The dwarf continued to smirk at her. She wondered which he was enjoying more; the prospect of messing with Cullen or watching her response to it.

"Just continue, will you?"

"I think you know them, Sterling." He flipped through the cards. "Why are you so nervous anyway? These are your lot, aren't they?"

"Hardly," she huffed. "This is the top tier of the Orlesian court. In their eyes, my family are no more than glorified farmers."

"It's not quite so dramatic, darling," Vivienne chimed. "You're from an old family, at least. New money, now that would be an offence! And I think you will make quite an impression, especially when I'm done with you."

"I appreciate your expertise, Lady Vivienne," Elsa said gently. She was feeling on edge from the seamstresses plucking at her from all directions and the Iron Lady's scrutinising gaze, but kept her composure. Madam de Fer was a good test for what was to come; if she couldn't handle her, she wasn't going to be able to handle their guests.

Varric took her through another round of drills, until he declared he needed a drink. He tossed the cards onto a table and nearly bumped into Cullen as he left the office. The Commander had been on his way to the war room, his face lined with a tense frown. It rapidly grew even darker at his run-in with the dwarf. He didn't say anything and roughly brushed past him, making Varric stare after him in disbelief. The rogue then turned back towards her and mimed an unflattering impression of the Dowager Countess, before wiggling his eyebrows and walking off with a smirk.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

He'd been surprised at the lack of side effects after he decided to quit. Seeing what happened to templars when they were taken off lyrium had not been a common occurrence, but he had come across it often enough. At times someone would be deprived for a day or two as a disciplinary measure. In most cases this didn't lead to much more than muscle weakness and trembles. On occasion one went longer without, which caused disturbing nights in which the knight relived failed harrowings, cold sweats and paranoia, lingering pains, and nausea. Then there were those who had left the Order completely, usually involuntarily, who would end up begging in the streets as they rapidly descended into madness.

Those men, however, had been more dependent on the stuff than he'd ever been. While many of his colleagues had turned to taking increasing amounts in order to forget, he had always resisted the temptation and restricted himself to the minimum. There had been plenty of mornings where he'd stood frozen over his philter, on the verge of increasing the dose after another night back in Kinloch Hold, but he'd never given in. It was something he'd always felt quite proud of, though it had taken him quite a while after Meredith's demise to muster up the courage to quit altogether.

Perhaps it was because of this discipline that, when he did eventually decide to give it up, he didn't notice too much of a difference at first. He'd been swept up in such chaos in closing the Breach, he doubted his body even had the chance to notice the lack of the substance. Afterwards, when he was more concerned with paperwork than containing demons, the symptoms he'd been expecting had slowly started to show themselves. A tremble of the hand, the occasional flash of heat that made him sweat and freeze at the same time, the lingering headaches after a disturbing night… For some time, it was nothing he couldn't handle. Now, that was no longer the case.

The dreams, while a constant companion for the last decade, were getting worse — not in content, but in vividness. Although never pleasant, he now saw that the lyrium had distanced him from the memories, as if he were observing those of someone else rather than reliving his own. These days he was right back in Ferelden's Circle, fighting invisible demons that tried to claw their way into his mind. Even when they failed, they were never discouraged. They simply observed, gauging his response, trying to create an image that would tempt him into submission the next time. He'd been close… looking back on it now, he knew he'd been lost if the Hero of Ferelden had arrived anything more than a few hours after she did.

His nights were often too short to fall in much of a deep sleep. It had made the change happen so gradually that he'd hardly noticed, but now the struggle had reasserted itself more intense than it had in years. Rather than feeling rested after sleep, he often ended up waking more exhausted than ever. It aggravated the headaches, intensified the tremors, made everything that had been a minor annoyance before a serious obstacle to his concentration and work ability. It happened at the worst possible time too, when Elsa and the rest of the Inquisition's leadership were working round the clock to prepare for the arrival of a bunch of nobility. He wished he'd realised this would be the consequence of pursuing the templars… it made the rebel mages almost look appealing.

A sharp stab between his eyebrows dug into his skull, blinding him as he walked through the chantry. He didn't even see Varric coming from his left, not until he nearly knocked him over. The dwarf made some joke or comment he couldn't hear through the ringing in his ears and he quickly continued to the war room. It was quiet there and people tended not to bother him. He closed the door behind him the moment he stepped inside and leaned against it, breathing deeply. The headache subsided a little. He moved to the table, deposited the reports he'd been carrying, and began to work.

Fortunately, Leliana had managed to acquire building plans of Therinfal Redoubt. He began with those, memorising the layouts and marking possible exit strategies. Though he didn't expect approaching the Order would lead to conflict, he wanted to be prepared nonetheless. Their behaviour lately had been so uncharacteristic of how he knew them to be that he wasn't about to take any chances. He wondered if Elsa was expecting something similar, and that was why she had asked him to come along. She had seen one of them knock down a Chantry mother right in front of her after all. It wasn't a leap to think they might not care for the Herald of Andraste in a similar manner.

The thought of Elsa derailed his thoughts momentarily. He shook his head to refocus on work, but the habitual gesture only made his headache flare up once again. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger, groaning in frustration.

"Cullen?"

He quickly straightened himself up. She was wearing a half-finished garment held together by pins and needles. Though he couldn't imagine what the collection of cloth was supposed to look like in the end, she looked pretty in it nonetheless.

"Is there something you need?"

He hadn't seen much of her since they received the go-ahead on their plan. When he did, she usually needed something. Now, however, she frowned and closed the door behind her, evidently taking care not to make too much noise.

"How are you?" she asked, walking towards him.

"Fine," he said, too quickly. "Busy. All your preparations are distracting from my usual duties."

It wasn't fair to call the reorganising of the camp, the mandatory polishing of every piece of equipment, the decorations, the cramped sleeping arrangements to make space for the new arrivals, and all the other little things 'her' preparations, but she merely quirked an eyebrow and let the comment slide.

"I know it's been annoying," she said, angling her head. "But they won't be here long. Would you prefer to remain here when we move on to Therinfal?"

He blinked in surprise. It would have been hard enough to find the time to properly prepare their mission in a normal situation, let alone with all the extra commotion. Now she didn't want him there anymore?

"I thought you wanted me to come."

"I do," she said quickly. "It's not that… It's just —" She glanced over at the door. "It means you have to put up with more of this stuff for longer. If you have health issues —"

"I told you I'm fine."

She drew a short breath, making the makeshift seams on her chest stretch a little, briefly exposing her skin through the fabric.

"You're not taking lyrium."

It wasn't a question. His hand began to reach for the back of his neck, but he forced it to take an awkward detour to one of his reports instead.

"How — how do you know?"

"Ah." She looked away, scratching her ear. "I, eh… smelled it."

"You… smelled it."

"Yeah," she coughed, fiddling with one of the pins in her gown. "People who take lyrium… It's a particular smell. Like, when you step outside after a thunderstorm. I doubt you notice it when you take it, but I've been around enough templars to recognise it. You've, eh… lent me your cloak. It didn't smell like that." She continued to focus on the shaggy edge of her dress, twisting the pin between her fingers, before suddenly looking back up. "Not that you don't smell nice."

He huffed a laugh. "Thank you. I didn't know you could tell by that."

"I don't think many can," she said, smiling uncertainly. "Are you trying to quit? Does anyone here know?"

"I am, and Cassandra does," he nodded. "She is to judge if it affects my duties too much."

"I see… But you're in pain."

Again, not a question. He was under no delusions that he was good in hiding his emotions, but was he really this obvious?

"The dreams… I don't know if your brothers have them. Most templars do, in varying degrees. They're getting worse. They make the rest harder."

"They've mentioned it," she said slowly, shifting her eyes away. "I'm not sure what to do about those, but I do know of some herbal remedies. My second eldest brother… he has some issues. The situation is different, but there were some things that helped. Would you want to try them?"

He was about to say again that he was fine, that he could handle it, but her concerned expression stopped him. She was clearly worried for him. It was not something he'd experienced often. It felt kind of nice.

"Alright," he shrugged, hopefully communicating a certain kind of casual gratefulness. It probably didn't. "No harm in trying."

"Good. I'll see about getting the herbs then, I'm afraid we don't have any on hand."

She waited a moment, smiling, then reached over to place her hand over his. Hers was smaller, slender and pale against the thick leather of his glove. Her touch was so gentle he barely felt it, yet he was more aware of it than had he been bashed over the head with a greatsword.

"Good luck, Cullen," she said quietly. "I hope you succeed."

The sincerity in her words caught him off guard. He swallowed and tried to think of a reply, while her hand burned on top of his. He didn't manage one before the door swung open again. She retreated in a flash and turned to face the intruder.

"Come along, darling, we're on a schedule here." Lady Vivienne's commanding voice cut sharply through his head, making him shut his eyes. "Tick tock."

Elsa lingered a moment beside him, but then he felt her move away. He waited until the door had closed again before he opened his eyes. Cassandra had been supportive when he told her, in her own brusque way. He'd had to share what he was trying to do with her, but had refrained from telling anyone else. The reason was threefold. One, he didn't want their concern, for concern too quickly turned into pity. Two, should he fail, it was better if less people knew of it. And third, he didn't want to be seen as anything special. He wasn't. He'd done worse than many other templars, said things far more extreme than many had ever even thought. But leaving at the point where most templars seemed to had lost their senses could be seen as a far bigger gesture than he thought it should be. He did not deserve that praise.

But Elsa hadn't pitied him, nor had she elevated his decision to anything it wasn't. She wanted him to succeed and help if she could. He couldn't bring himself to regret that she'd figured it out. The thought of them together surfaced in his mind, her preparing some kind of remedy, maybe reaching over to touch his forehead, or calming him down when he'd been dreaming. He sighed as the images dissolved, but the pleasant feeling lingered. Maybe there was an upside to this struggle that hadn't been there ten years ago.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

It was getting really problematic at this point. First there had been the quick flutters, the thumping of her heart whenever he laughed or grazed her arm with his when they walked to her cabin at the end of the day. Then, she had nearly jumped the man after they got the nobility's support. This time around, she probably would have done so if not for Vivienne's intrusion. Was it something about this place that made her more prone to these things, like some kind of invisible vapour coming out of the ground or a toxin in the food? Granted, all she'd wanted to go for was a hug, nothing inappropriate. Something to show her appreciation. Then again, she wasn't at all sure she would want it to remain 'just' a hug once he put his arms around her — very nice arms they were, as she noticed when he was polishing his armour a few days ago — or if it ever could be 'just' a hug to begin with. And then there was the matter of… She shook her head, and shook the thought of Cullen with it from her mind, focusing her attention on the road where a long line of carriages was approaching the camp.

_No distractions, not right now._

She ran through her list, making a satisfying mental 'check' behind each and every point. They'd thought of everything, she was sure of it. There was a limit to how prepared the village could be to accommodate a bunch of spoiled Orlesians, but she felt certain they'd maxed out its potential. The town was clean, the fires blazing, the food steaming and ready. The people were buzzing behind her, all busy with their assigned tasks. Anything to make them seem like a well-oiled machine, an organisation fit to save the world from a giant hole in the sky.

Josephine appeared beside her, her clipboard in hand on which she was checking a similar list to the one Elsa had just completed in her head.

"I think we've got everything," she said, a little astonished.

"I believe so too. Now it's just up to our winning smiles and conversational skills."

"In that case, we should have the Breach closed in no time at all," Leliana replied, silently moving in on her other side.

"Didn't they pledge their support already?" The annoyance was dripping from Cullen's voice when he joined them. "Or don't promises mean anything in the Orlesian court?"

"Promises mean everything, Commander," Leliana said slyly, "The problem is that there are a great many, and they tend to conflict."

"Rather we put our best foot forward, than have them change their minds," Josephine said, no longer with the same bright tone as a number of days ago. The sentence had become her mantra of sorts, dulling with each repeat, and had been directed at Cullen more than a few times.

The Commander sighed, but didn't reply anymore. Elsa caught his eye briefly, lifting an eyebrow to inquire after his well-being. He made a non-committal shrug in return. Not great, not bad. He was likely downplaying it, but she wouldn't press him. She guessed he was more preoccupied with the matter at hand than his own concerns for the moment, and soon she was as well, for the first carriage came to a halt in front of them.


	9. Long Lane

The day and night before they left for Therinfal passed him by in a surreal blur. Feathery heads and glittery outfits, despite their comparably small numbers, had taken over the horizon. Laughter did not sound sincere, conversations were about topics that he felt no one should be concerning themselves with in the current situation, and there was a sudden separation within their people that hadn't been there before. Everything together was enough to make him feel extremely uncomfortable. Leliana had her ravens and her spies, while Josephine had her room with parchment, quills and meetings. The camp had been his and his lingering headache made it hard not to resent the others for how much they'd messed with it.

One look at Elsa was enough to soften his ire. The outfit that was held together by pins before, had become a deep-blue gown sewn with gold thread. Lining her shoulders was a snowy-white fur, which flowed into a silver cloak that skimmed the ground. The fabric shimmered when she moved, flowing around her like water and reflecting tiny rainbows that sparkled in the muted sunlight. It had been embroidered as well, though be it in white, and showed symbols and imagery connected to the Chantry. Enough to suggest her identity as the Herald of Andraste, not so much as to come off as boastful. Madame de Fer had braided her hair, shimmery locks framing her face. Her smile was radiant, stunning everyone around her.

Yet much as he liked to look at her, her company revealed itself to be a double-edged sword in its own right. She was beautiful, yes. She also felt further removed from him than ever before. She was dignified, graceful, eloquent, charming; all the things she'd been before, but that he'd slowly grown less intimidated by as he got to know her better. Now, surrounded by her peers, he was again reminded of just how vastly different she was from him. She'd said she disliked the Game, perhaps as much as he did, but that didn't change that she clearly was at home between its players. She laughed at their jokes, asked them questions, showed them around camp, all with the same bright smile. It wasn't the one he had seen from her in the war room, but he wished it would be less convincing nonetheless.

He stayed away from the party as much as he could, though sadly the party was not keen on sharing the sentiment. As he went about his business, he did his best to give off an air of distant, yet polite professionalism. It worked quite well, though the look Josephine kept giving him made it seem that perhaps the 'polite' part could use some work. Unfortunately it was still far from foolproof. Whenever he managed to get away and dared to think he'd be able to get some things done, an elderly woman kept showing up to ask him questions and portray a general lack of respect for personal boundaries. She was large and wrinkly, wearing several strings of pearls that dug into her thick neck, and what seemed like dozens of rings spread over her sausage-like fingers. The stones sparkled green in the light of the Breach whenever she reached over to touch his arm, giving a little squeeze each time like she was testing a piece of fruit for ripeness. He wasn't sure what to make of her interest in him, though instinct told him to keep her at bay at any cost. The look the watery eyes were giving him from below their thickly painted lids and lashes was not one he felt anyone should be able to once they'd passed a certain age.

There was a dinner in the evening, constituting of food much more elaborate than what they'd largely been sustained on for the past months. By lack of a suitable venue, the Chantry had been transformed into a makeshift dining hall with wooden tables set up in a U-shape. Like everything else, the new configuration and the sudden surplus of food felt alien and frivolous. Elsa sat in the centre of the formation, with the lord that had won over the other nobility — and he didn't remember the name of — on her one side and Mother Giselle on her other. He'd hoped the Inquisition's leadership would be seated together, but they were spread among the nobility instead. To his relief, he was positioned far away from the old woman and next to a man in his fifties, Duke Dufort. The man had invested his surplus of time and money into a personal collection of siege engines, and his knowledge on them was extensive. While Cullen still couldn't get over the ridiculousness of the whole situation, his evening was not a complete bust as they discussed specifications and mechanics.

Throughout the night he found himself continuously glancing across the room towards Elsa, hoping to catch her eye. He never did. She was occupied at all times, smiling politely, chuckling at jokes, looking with interest at her conversation partner. While the table setting had been a disappointment, her complete lack of interest in him was depressing. The daydream he had momentarily entertained felt silly now, especially with his expectation of the Orlesian visit being so far from how he'd imagined it. He'd hoped be would be by her side throughout, that she'd turn back to him with that spark in her eye and quietly joke with him about their guests, maybe that she'd shield him from elderly women with lascivious intentions… Unrealistic, perhaps, but he hadn't thought it plausible for her to completely disappear either. His head throbbed when he heard her laugh and he excused himself from the table. Josephine threw him another glare, but he ignored it. Elsa knew where to find him if she needed him, he thought bitterly to himself as he stomped back to the tent he was sharing with Rylen for the night.

_Not that she does at the moment._

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

_I want to murder someone._

"I have recently taken quite an interest in Antivan rugs. The craft can be traced back as far as before the second blight, but you notice a clear shift in how the material is handled from the Glory Age."

_I've never wanted to murder someone._

"History through a carpet, isn't that wonderful? Many people believe it is all about the depictions, but there is so much you can tell just from the thread count and the stitching. You see…"

_I've killed people. Is that the difference? Maybe I would have wanted to kill people earlier, if I had the experience before. Maybe the tea parties back home would have turned out very differently if I had to shoot someone when I was younger._

"But of course you don't get results like that if you try to industrialise the practice. Sure, a few workers may lose their sight working on designs so intricate, but if you see the results it is absolutely worth it."

_Does everyone who has killed people feel this way? Does Cassandra want to kill someone right now? Varric? Cullen?_

She shot a quick look over to where the Commander was sitting, while Abernache prattled on about his hobby. Though he didn't look particularly happy, he didn't look murderous either.

_Maybe it's just me._

"Absolutely fascinating, my lord. Pray tell, is there a noticeable influence of the Qunari invasion on the craft?"

The man's eyes lit up. He nodded approvingly at her question, before launching into a lecture on pre- and post-invasion rugs.

_That should keep him busy for a while._

She used the moment he had his drink refilled to cast another glance across the room. She'd seated Cullen at the end of the table so he only had to endure one conversation partner. Judging from the fact he was actually engaged in a conversation, Dufort had been a good choice to put next to him. During the day he'd largely kept away from the fuss, a barely contained scowl on his face whenever she'd caught a glimpse of him. She'd seen the Dowager stalk off on more than one occasion, which sadly she couldn't very well do anything against, but he seemed to manage. The way he'd squinted against the sunlight and closed his eyes on occasion suggested a lingering headache, the kind she'd seen often enough in Nicolai. Perhaps she could find the herbs she needed on their way to Therinfal. With how the nobles had been clamouring for her attention, however, it seemed unlikely she'd find the time.

"Wouldn't you say so, lady Herald?"

_Crap… what did he say?_

"I am terribly sorry, my Lord," she said gently, flashing her most pleasing smile. "I'm afraid I was quite diverted by that magnificent ring you wear. A ruby, is it?"

"Ah, yes," he laughed. "The price of good fashion. It does distract from conversation!"

She shared in his laughter, while silently imagining how easily she could fell him with one of her arrows.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

The next morning was full of confusion. People ran up and down, haughty voices called out orders, and the belongings that had come out of the many carriages were stashed back inside them with a lot more effort than they logically should. But eventually they were off, and Cullen couldn't suppress a sigh of relief when the line of coaches finally pulled away from the camp.

He himself followed on horseback, as did Elsa's companions and the small squad of soldiers that accompanied the caravan. She herself was seated on the steed that Dennet had gifted her, dressed in a light armour fashioned in a similar colour scheme as her dress and wearing the same flowing cloak. Her long hair was half braided up, half flowing free, with loose strands dancing on her shoulders. It fluttered behind her as she sped up to a trot, circled around the front most carriage, and came galloping back along the line. She looked ethereal, undoubtedly by design, and he felt sure he wasn't the only one thinking it. This knowledge might have cheapened the effect, were it not so perfectly executed.

Though it was only a few short weeks ride to their destination, he couldn't recall time ever moving slower than it seemed to do on the way there. It started when they had barely made it out of the mountains and some of the carriages came to a sudden halt as the ladies inside squealed at the sight of a typical Fereldan village. While Haven had been severely criticised because of its location, this one was observed with condescending endearment as the women commented on the window boxes, the cobblestone paths, and the thatch roofing. They might have had to make camp there and then, had Cassandra not sent Elsa over to convince them to continue. Despite that, it still took a full hour of sightseeing before they were on their way again.

The second hold-up happened when one of the carriages, clearly built for city roads rather than the country, got stuck in a bog. The couple inside acted as if they were about to die, despite them only being surrounded by an inch or two of muddy water. The servant who had been driving their vehicle received an earful that made Cullen quickly send in his own soldiers to help free the carriage. By the time they got it loose, the rest of the entourage had decided it was a good moment for a break. Folding tables and chairs had been conjured up from seemingly nowhere, as well as pots of tea and refreshments. He stared at the baffling sight of a bunch of Orlesian nobility having a deluxe picnic in the middle of a field, before ordering his men to retreat as far away from them as possible.

These were only the first instances in a long series of delays that inflamed the battle with his increasing frustration. They were particular nuisances on top of their general pace, which rivalled that of snails. It took them forever in the mornings to get going and they had to make camp the moment the sun went down. After what should have been a fairly quick journey, but which took inexplicably long, they finally made it to the Southron Hills. Maker willing, they had only a day of travel left until they would reach the old fort.

Cassandra sat next to him at the fire that evening in the part of the camp reserved for the soldiers. Dejection was written across her face. She hadn't said much throughout the trip, her expression a mirror of his own experience. Now she stared into the flames, her eyes far away, until a shrill shriek of laughter from the nobility camp made her look up. If looks could kill, she would have had a lot more deaths on her name than she already did. The group sitting by the other fire in particular would not have stood a chance. Elsa was one of them, however, so he was still glad the Seeker's eyes did not hold that power.

"The templars better make this worth our while," she said grimly.

Feeling at least partially responsible for their current situation, he uncomfortably focused on drawing circles in the dirt with his sword.

"They'll have to listen with this much pressure," he shrugged. "And Elsa's reputation as the Herald has only increased, with Josephine and Leliana's help. She should be able to use the dissent among the ranks to win their favour."

"There is that at least, if the nobles aren't convincing enough. I'm not sure what we'll do if this fails. If the rebel mages know we approached the templars first, I doubt they will still be as willing as they were before."

"Don't forget to tell Sterling that," Varric muttered under his breath. "I'm sure she can use some more pressure."

Cassandra arched an eyebrow, eyeing him sceptically. "Varric?"

He was lying on his back some distance away, scribbling in a notebook. "It's all up to her, is it?" he said casually, not looking up. "Herding this group of cats towards the templars, make sure no one gets offended in the process, be all Heraldic while doing so? Better make damn sure they come with too, otherwise the world will end. I'm sure you're being a great help to her though, sighing and eye-rolling from the sidelines."

Cullen could feel Cassandra bristle beside him. "We are helping," she said indignantly.

"Sure you are, Seeker," the dwarf replied, snapping the book shut as he got up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I promised to do a reading of one of my books. I'll be sure to come complain about it afterwards though, since that seems to be how we help Sterling best."

"She seems fine," Cullen mumbled, glancing over at the straight-backed silhouette of the girl that seemed to be engaged in animated conversation.

Varric merely sighed, letting his eyes roll up to the sky. He walked away with an air that managed to convey an impressive amount of exasperation.

"We are helping," Cassandra repeated once he'd gone. "… Right?"

"We'll be more able to in case there is trouble," he said decisively, though the twinge of guilt was hard to ignore. "She didn't ask us along to socialise."

"Right," Cassandra nodded.

They sat in silence for a while after, though the slight awkwardness the dwarf had instilled didn't go away.

"How are you doing?" the Seeker asked eventually. He wondered to which extent she was genuinely interested and to which she was merely looking for a change of topic.

"It's nothing I can't handle," he replied. "You'll be the first to know if that changes."

"I'm not asking for your job performance, Cullen. I care about your well-being."

"… Oh."

It wasn't the same as when Elsa had shown her concern, but he was touched nonetheless. Why did that make him uncomfortable? What had happened in the last years that he'd grown so unaccustomed to people caring about him? Actually… that wasn't a very hard question to answer.

"I'm not great," he replied, scratching the back of his neck. "But I'm handling it."

"Alright… Well, let me know if I can do something. Will you?"

"I don't think there is anything."

"Probably not… but I mean it anyway."

He huffed a laugh, which she answered with a thin smile. "Thanks."

She nodded and focused her attention back on the other campfire. "Several of those people have been wanting to talk to me," she sighed. "I suppose I might as well."

She got to her feet and was indeed greeted with enthusiasm when she joined the other group. Cullen decided against following her example, though he knew there were some eager to talk to him as well. Duke Dufort had continued to seek him out, clearly happy to find someone who shared his interest, even though Cullen couldn't muster up the same level of inexhaustible enthusiasm. Similarly, the elderly lady hadn't given up her quest on him yet either. Even now she seemed to be eyeing him from across the camp. He quickly left the fire, deciding to take a walk. The early end of their days made the evenings far too long to avoid unwelcome company.

He walked through the small forest they'd used as cover for their camp and came to a clearing. Moonlight reflected off the waving grass, colouring the strands a pale blue. He breathed deeply, instantly feeling the openness lift some of the pent-up tension from his body. He brought his arms overhead and stretched from side to side, noticing how his muscles were cramped from the long days in the saddle and the lack of his regular training. He looked back towards the campfires flickering beyond the trees and paused a moment, then shrugged to himself and began to undo his travel armour. Why not?

He started his routine with a round of push-ups, followed by crunches and rounding it off with another set of stretches. Then he picked up his sword, both hands on the hilt as he lifted the weapon before him. Swing left, swing right, feeling the balance of the blade as it cleaved the air. He stepped back, a swift strike behind him, and smoothly transitioned into a defensive stance. He barely reflected on the mental change that occurred once he picked up his weapon anymore. It, like his skill with the blade, was second nature by now. As much as he'd fumbled with his practice sword as a boy, even then holding one had felt right. There was no time to wonder about the past or the future, no place for insecurities, doubts, or worries to plague him. There was only the adversary before him and a dance of moves that would decide life or death. It was a game, one with the only stakes that really mattered, and this one he played well. Perhaps he was useless to Elsa at the moment, perhaps even making things harder. He hoped he wasn't, but should the reason she asked him along come to pass, he would not let her down. At least of that he could be certain.

He advanced on his imaginary foe, sending quick slashes through the air to drive the man back. He was imagining fighting another templar, anticipating the way the knight would hold his shield and where he would try to direct his sword. Having followed years of the same training, in addition to training recruits, would undoubtedly come in handy should trouble arise. Still, there was something unnerving about preparing to fight his former brethren. The last time he had… it had been his commander at the other end of his sword.

He paused, his sword frozen in mid-air, and slowly retracted his stance. The Order he'd been a part of would never attack a group of nobles or something like the Inquisition. But after reading Elsa's reports on the Hinterlands, their behaviour in Val Royeux, and seeing how more and more of his men turned away from him in Kirkwall… He was not at all certain they weren't looking at another situation like Meredith. He shivered, suddenly aware of the cold night digging into his skin. A drop of sweat ran along the side of his face. He reached up to swipe it away, taking note of his general state. Although an incessant throbbing still lingered behind his temples, the headache had subsided. He made note to remember that. He turned back to find his clothes, only to pause once more.

Someone was standing at the edge of the forest, observing him with an amused smile. Her hair was loose, shining in the moonlight as it gently drifted in the wind. She leaned with her back against a massive oak tree, one hand behind her back. Their current location made for a pretty frame, but he began to think Elsa's unique features could make her look exquisite in any locale.

"You have good form," she said, her accent thicker than usual.

"How can you tell?" He reached down to grab his shirt from the ground beside her and wiped his forehead with it before putting it on. "Are you secretly a templar?"

"Far from," she chuckled, shaking her head. "I've read books on sword fighting, watched my brothers. I know templars are all good, but you can't all be equal. You, however…" She jabbed a finger in his direction. "You're good. I can see that much."

He'd spent enough time on recruits he felt were hopeless to know that to be true. "It's unusual to find someone with such an affiliation to the Order who isn't a part of it," he mused. "Most people don't care."

She produced a flask from behind her back and handed it to him. He'd expected it to be water, but it was half-filled with sparkling wine instead. She shrugged when he quirked an eyebrow at her.

"It's like I've been spending time with my mother, multiplied by a dozen. Anyone could use something to take the edge off that."

"Is your mother hard to take?"

"Anyone's mother a dozen times is hard to take," she declared. "How are you coping with the circus? I've noticed you keep to yourself."

"Yeah…" he said, feigning interest in the ground. "I'm sorry I haven't been more help."

"More help?"

"Varric said that maybe I haven't been supportive enough." He waved in the direction of camp. "With all this."

"Ah." She flashed a grin. "Don't worry about that. I think Varric feels a little protective of me."

There was something that felt fundamentally unfair about that statement.

"We all feel protective of you," he muttered.

She took the flask back from him, a smile forming on her lips.

"I know that. What I mean is…" She paused to take a long swig from the wine. "Varric is worried I am not being myself while I do… this." She gestured vaguely at herself. "He thinks I'm playing a part or that I'm not… I dunno, me. Thing is…" Her eyes narrowed, staring hard at some point in the sky. Despite her steady appearance, he noticed her body sway a little. It seemed likely she was mainly responsible for the empty half of the flask. "It may not, you know," she continued, "It may not be my _favourite_ pastime, but this is me. I'm pretty good at it too."

"But you said you don't like the Game." Part of him had hoped she'd secretly been hating the whole situation as much as he had.

"I did," she nodded. "But we're all a part of it. I said that too. Deciding not to play… it doesn't help anyone." She relaxed, resting her head against the tree. "And they're not all bad, you know… some of them."

He failed to suppress a dismissive snort, making her laugh. She held out the flask to him again, stepping forward with a slight stumble. He caught her in a reflex, closing one hand over hers holding on to the drink, his other steadying her by the shoulder. Suddenly she was very close… close enough for him to see the reflection of the stars in her eyes.

"I don't want you to think that about me though, you know. Like…" She shifted in place, pushing ever so slightly against his hands. "Like this is me and I'm not myself with you. That's not true."

"Does it…" His throat felt thick, blocking his voice. He swallowed forcibly to get rid of it. "I mean… Does that matter to you?"

The grey eyes, lighter than usual in the moonlight, flitted away to the sky. She searched for something, seemingly frustrated when she didn't find anything to settle on.

"It does."

She pushed away with a sigh, exasperated almost, and pivoted her weight back towards the tree. Once back in a leaning position she looked him over, her eyes drifting down until they landed somewhere near his feet. She then found a tree root, and prodded it with her foot. He wasn't sure at all what was going on with her, but her next words quickly left little room in his mind for concern.

"I like spending time with you… I miss it. I don't want you to think badly of me."

"I could never do that," he asserted.

"You already have," she smirked. "And you could again. Nice sentiment though, much appreciated."

He huffed, rolling his eyes, and leaned his shoulder against the tree. She'd missed him. The thought bounced around in his mind, making him feel strangely lightheaded. She continued to chuckle softly, one hand covering her mouth as if she were concerned the emotion might get away from her. Something about it made her seem younger than the twenty-something that she was. It was disarmingly endearing.

"I've missed… spending time with you too," he said softly.

He found himself in an atmosphere he'd never experienced before, yet recognised immediately. The air grew so thick that he could taste it, loaded with anticipation and ready to ignite at the smallest spark. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have looked away from her eyes now looking up at him. She was worried about something, that much he could see, yet she made no attempt to break away. He reached up, hovering still for a moment, and touched the silvery strands of hair hanging down the side of her face. There was a flutter in her breath when he stroked them back. She angled her head to meet his fingers and let her eyes fall closed with a deep sigh.

He could spend the rest of his life meeting perfectly pleasant nobles, he knew he would never — ever — grow to like a single one. A loud crashing in the undergrowth made Elsa look up with a start, while he swiftly retracted his hand. The Dowager Countess was moving through the forest some distance away, searching for something. Apparently she hadn't spotted them yet.

"Probably noticed you've gone," Elsa muttered darkly. "You should go. I'll intercept her."

"Elsa…"

She looked back at him, a careful smile playing around the corner of her mouth.

"When this is over."

"… When this is over."

He quickly gathered the rest of his things under his arm and briefly took her hand, squeezing it before he made his way back to camp. He could feel her squeezing back long after she'd let go, after he'd reached his tent and tied it safely closed, and even after he'd lay down on his bedroll. His daydream was suddenly very much at the forefront of his mind again.


	10. Wrong Horse

The fortress was visible several hours before they reached it. It was in better condition than he'd expected it to be. Had the Order kept themselves busy with cleaning rather than defending people from tears in the Veil? Banners fluttered in the sharp wind, guiding them towards the gate as the sun began to sink behind the mountains. Cullen surveyed the outer walls from the start of the bridge, running the blueprints he'd memorised through his mind and checking the information against what he could see. He'd anticipated the layout to be different due to collapse and neglect. If the inside was in similar condition as the outside, it would be a problem less to worry about.

The nobles had scattered upon arrival and were met by several templars keeping them at bay. It was a mistake on the Order's part. Voices all around them were complaining loudly, questioning the knights about their behaviour. They were effective at that at least, making the grown men squirm in their place with guilty looks on their faces. Cullen did not feel sorry for them.

"Are we ready?"

The silver cloak swirled around her, the wind in the passage violently tugging on the delicate fabric. Her hair was fully braided today, though the gale had torn several strands loose from the intricate style.

"You're not armed," he observed.

Harrit had crafted her a new bow, shaping the weapon from the whitest piece of ash he'd managed to procure. He'd seen her try it out in the shooting range some days before their allies arrived, much to the amusement of the army. Varric had thrown a variety of objects into the air — ranging from different varieties of fruit to things as small as a button — for her to shoot down. She hadn't missed a single one.

"I don't want to give the wrong impression." She didn't seem very certain of her own words. "We're here to talk."

"None of those knights are going to lay down their sword when meeting you. Please, bring your weapon."

She frowned, but nodded. He gestured to one of his men to fetch her bow and arrows, while the others gathered behind them. All of them were, to his relief, armed to the teeth. She cast him a grateful smile, seeming a bit less nervous once she'd slung the quiver over her shoulder and strapped the longbow to her back.

"Do we have a plan here?" Varric asked. "This place isn't giving me a particularly welcoming feeling."

"One of the templars wrote to me," Cullen replied. "You saw him in Val Royeux. He inquired after our intentions and seems to be seriously questioning the Lord Seeker. Even if Lucius won't be convinced, others might rally behind him instead."

"We should find him then." Cassandra stepped forward to flank Elsa's other side. "And your brother, when we have the chance. The more of them on our side, the better."

A faint line formed in Elsa's forehead as she continued to look down the bridge.

"I do not think we will," she said softly.

"It is an outrage!"

Before anyone could answer her, their attention was drawn to — "Abernache," Elsa whispered to him — coming down the bridge towards them.

"The Lord Seeker won't meet with us until he has met with 'the Inquisition' personally," he huffed. "After your spat in Val Royeux, I was not aware he was so taken with you, my lady."

"That is news to me as well, my Lord. Perhaps the Lord Seeker has seen reason at last?"

"Not enough to not keep ten of Orlais' most noble houses standing out on his doorstep," the man grumbled. "Come then, let us go and meet him. It is time these templars were set straight. The Chantry has always been too soft on them, if you ask me."

Cullen stood frozen for a moment, glaring at the bobbing hat of the man leading them towards the garrison. Cassandra gave him a look, telling him to ignore it, and he quickly moved to join Elsa. She had her gaze fixed on the gate, her brow furrowed in concentration. Though her gait was still floating, she seemed to be struggling in maintaining an even pace.

Abernache had gone ahead, and puffed himself up like an angry peacock. The templar he'd targeted brushed past him, however, moving to meet them instead.

"Commander Cullen?" the knight asked.

"Barris?"

"Yes, ser," Barris nodded. "It is good to meet you in person. I did not expect you to bring such… lofty company."

Abernache took this as an invitation to retaliate for the man's previous rudeness, but quieted down when Elsa raised her hand.

"It would seem our company is the only reason you are willing to receive us, ser Barris," she said, focusing back on the templar. "I remember seeing you in the capital. May I ask why you have been holed up here, instead of doing your duty?"

He glanced momentarily at Abernache, then stepped towards them. "I wish I knew, my lady," he said in a low voice. "I apologise for that display you witnessed. The Lord Seeker… he is not making any sense. This… promise of status has garnered his interest. Especially in you."

"In the Herald?" Cassandra asked, protectively closing in on Elsa.

"Yes." Barris seemed as puzzled by this development as any of them. "He wishes to meet with you. From what we hear, he has talked of little else ever since he heard you were coming here."

"From what you hear?" Cullen asked sharply.

"He… does not share much with the lower ranks, ser," Barris replied, his expression darkening. "The senior officers are the only ones who see him regularly, and they too remain silent."

An all too familiar uneasiness stirred in his chest, slowly clenching tighter around his lungs. He wasn't being paranoid… this was Meredith all over again.

"But you will not leave?" Elsa asked. "Even when you see his orders are not reasonable?"

Barris sighed and looked away. "It is not so simple, my lady. But if you gain his support, the Order will stand with you. I guarantee it."

"I understand," she said, though the frown didn't lighten from her face. "You better take us to him then, ser Barris."

He gave a curtly nod and ignored Abernache's sneering comments as he turned away to lead them inside. They followed him through the massive gates and into an inner courtyard. Cullen glanced around him, taking note of how many guards were stationed where and which weapons they were carrying. He noticed Cassandra doing similar, curling and unfolding her hand around the hilt of her sword as she went. Glad he wasn't the only one planning for the worst, he decided to focus on Elsa instead. He'd almost missed the fact that she had moved ahead to catch up with Barris, and quickly increased his pace to keep up with her.

"Tell me," she said to the knight, keeping her gaze straight ahead. "Do you have a recruit here by the name of Trevelyan?"

"Trevelyan?" Barris came to a halt beside a wooden pole with a wheel mounted on it. "A family member, I presume?"

"My brother," she replied. "Myca Trevelyan of Ostwick."

He glanced shortly towards Cullen before looking back at her. The moment of silence was enough to confirm what she had probably been expecting since their arrival at the keep. Had her brother been here, there would have been no reason for the Order to not have him meet her outside.

"I am sorry, my lady. There has not been anyone here by that name."

It felt that the message required more ceremony than that, but it received none. Cullen felt himself deflate a little, while the rest of the party shifted uncomfortably behind them. He looked at Elsa, but there was nothing to show her disappointment. She merely looked at the knight before her, nodded, then turned her attention elsewhere.

"We have numbers across Thedas, lady Herald," Barris said carefully. "He might —"

"Where is the Lord Seeker?"

"Ah…" He straightened himself up, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "The Lord Seeker has a… request before you meet him."

He gestured towards three banners lining the eastern wall, explaining of a rite meant to show in what order she honoured the imagery depicted on them. Elsa stared at the wall for a long time while Abernache piped up again. Eventually she glanced over to Cullen, one eyebrow arched.

_Is this familiar to you?_

He shook his head. If it was a rite among templars, it wasn't one he'd ever taken part in. He imagined his commanding officers had more important things to concern themselves with.

A shadow pulled across her eyes at his answer, coalescing into a hard glint within each pupil.

"What my priorities are, ser Barris, is irrelevant," she countered, fixing the man with her eyes. She was no less polite, but there was an edge to her voice that made each word cut like a knife. "But I will tell you what I believe every templar here should have as their topmost banner."

She pointed a finger at the flag depicting a lion.

"People," she said sharply. "People, which you have effectively ignored when they needed you most. I will not partake in this rite. Take me to the Lord Seeker. He has wasted enough time as it is and, frankly, he should be ashamed."

"Hear, hear," Abernache added smugly.

"Yes, my lady," Barris replied with a small bow, taken aback by this sudden shift in attitude. He paused a moment, glancing at the rest of them and halting uncomfortably on Cullen. "He, eh… was quite insistent that he would meet you alone. You and Lord Abernache."

"That is not going to happen," Cullen said simply, resting a hand on his sword. Though they were outnumbered by at least twenty to one, there was a tangible fear running through the courtyard. Whatever was going on here had them worried, and none were eager to cross them.

Barris hesitated a moment, but then seemed to decide that the Lord Seeker's request wasn't worth the effort. He turned away, gesturing for them to follow him, and headed towards the central staircase. Elsa remained where she was for a moment, taking in a long breath.

"You doing okay there, Sterling?" Varric asked, eyeing her with concern. "If you need a moment —"

"We have a mission," she said decisively. "Let's focus on that."

Before anyone could say anything else, she'd walked off and followed Barris up the stairs.

o - o - o

They waited in a common room of sorts. As time dragged on and the Lord Seeker failed to show himself, Abernache was unable to keep quiet. He continued to berate the templars positioned around them, telling them of the uselessness of the Chantry, their duty, and their failure to fulfil it. Elsa made no attempt to stop him anymore, but merely stood still as a statue, eyes fixed on the door through which their target was supposed to emerge. Cullen himself tried to ignore the argument between the lord and Barris, instead focusing on the room and the people within it. None of these knights had any intention of attacking them, that was the good part. The bad part was the odd sensation creeping up the back of his neck, like a thousand ants crawling over his skin. He knew the feeling… but couldn't quite place it yet.

The nagging sensation quickly turned to something much more determinable when the door finally opened. Several knights walked in, weapons drawn and eyes hazy with red. Notes of a song played in the corners of his mind, eerie and otherworldly… and unmistakable.

"Get back," he told Elsa, unsheathing his sword as he stepped in front of her.

The templar recruits looked at him in surprise, as did Cassandra, though she quickly followed his example. Elsa gave him a questioning look as she followed the order, but he merely nodded towards her bow. Confusion flashed across her face, but then she took the weapon from her back.

"Is that how you try to win over new allies?" the red-eyed knight simpered, eyeing the swords pointing at him from across the table. "I'm not sure that is clever given your position, do you?"

"Knight-Captain Denam?" Barris said uncertainly.

Denam's gaze lingered on Cullen, who glared back. He didn't recognise the man himself, but the look he gave him from behind his visor was one he'd seen more often than he cared for. The reddened pupils then snapped to Elsa and a gleeful smirk twisted around his mouth.

"You were expecting the Lord Seeker," he continued. "He sent me to die for you."

"Aw," Varric said behind them. "He shouldn't have."

"Knight-Captain!" Abernache exclaimed, clearly pleased to be talking to someone of rank rather than the second son of a Fereldan lord. "Lord Esmeral Abernache. Honored."

The knight seemed about as interested in him as he would be in the collection of Antivan rugs the man hadn't shut up about during their journey.

"Step back, my Lord," Elsa said softly.

Though he kept his own eyes fixed on the knights before him, Cullen felt hers trailing him, watching carefully for his next move. He wished the other templars would stop staring at them and wake up already. Hadn't Meredith's story spread far enough for them to know the danger they were in?

"Have all of you taken red lyrium?" he asked.

Elsa's eyes grew wide, but the man merely smiled at him.

"Commander Cullen, deserter from Kirkwall. I've introduced several of your previous recruits to the new power. It's a shame you were unwilling to embrace it."

"It drove Meredith Stannard to madness," he growled. "You've been feeding it to your brothers and sisters?"

The templars stirred now, murmuring to each other. Hands began to reach for weapons and armour creaked as men and women took their battle stances. A quiet power struggle was playing out in the room, but he couldn't yet tell in which direction the scales would tip.

"The Lord Seeker had a plan," Denam continued, focusing on Elsa again. "But you ruined it. Sowing dissent, disrespecting his wishes. The Herald of Andraste could do with learning some manners."

Raised voices from outside reached them through the thick walls. Steel was striking steel and explosions sent tremors through the ground. Barris stared at the door, shock registering on his face, before turning back to his commanding officer.

"Knight-Captain, I must know what's going on."

Cullen only faintly heard the answer he got, for more templars were making their way into the room. The song of the lyrium swelled — no longer single, detached notes, but turning into the haunting melody that had followed him in his dreams. Elsa didn't need encouragement to move further back and take a position in between Varric and Vivienne, readying her bow as she went, while Cassandra and he closed in front of them.

Vivienne's barrier shielded them from the flurry of arrows coming their way, though many of the templars around them were not so lucky. He ducked low to dodge the blow of one of the warriors, while Cassandra threw herself in front of another coming their way. Chaos ruled for a few long minutes as they fought off their assailants. Tendrils of lightning sprung from Vivienne's staff, ricocheting off the walls and making dust and rocks fly through the air. In the confusion he couldn't tell which of the templars were and weren't on their side. Cullen very nearly skewered one woman, who quickly threw up her hands in surrender and swore she hadn't touched the lyrium. In the split second that he decided what to do with her, he almost missed another templar charging him from behind. His weapon was raised in anticipation, ready to strike. Cullen lifted an arm to catch the blow, but the man dropped to his knees before reaching him. He writhed on the ground, veins surging with blue fire. Cassandra stood behind him, eyes flaming and hand stretched out as she kept the man in her grasp. Cullen quickly drove his blade through the knight's neck, making blood spray from his helmet before he went limp.

The dust finally settled, their party standing victorious among the bloody remains. They checked the bodies, finishing off any of the corrupted templars still alive while Vivienne saw to the few survivors of the skirmish. Varric's bolts were sticking haphazardly out of armour and flesh, while others were covered in slowly melting ice and sizzling burns. Denam had survived — though only barely, he was pleased to see. Cullen quickly ordered the templar recruits to restrain him. More surprisingly, Abernache had somehow managed to survive the event as well. He sat cowering in a corner, his mask and hat askew. Thinking that he should be more pleased their most prominent ally hadn't yet been killed on their watch, Cullen wiped his brow with the back of his hand and looked at the scene around him. Something was missing, but he wasn't sure what. The reason became clear the moment he looked back at Elsa.

The same arrow from before still lay against her drawn bow, which she kept pointed at the room. She was staring at the carnage in front of her, her eyes big and disbelieving. He quickly stepped over one of the corpses to move towards her and placed a hand over the one holding the bowstring back.

"Let go."

She swallowed, nodded, then slowly released the tension on the string. Her arm trembled as she did, the muscles undoubtedly feeling the effect of keeping a longbow strained for minutes on end.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I thought I was over this."

"Not being over it isn't a bad thing, Sterling," Varric said gently as he reloaded his crossbow.

"Right…"

"Are you okay?" Cullen asked. Her hand was shaking under his palm.

She looked at him for a long moment, before taking a deep breath. The tremors in her body slowly ceased.

"Yeah," she said on an exhale. "But what do we do now?"

He gave her an approving nod and walked over to the door they'd come from. Opening it a fraction, he looked outside. The quiet courtyard from before had turned into a battlefield as templar fought templar, red lyrium against blue.

"I'd like to get you out of here, for a start."

"And after that?"

"We need to get to the bottom of this," Cassandra added. "The Lord Seeker has a lot to answer for." She spat on the floor and wiped the blood from her mouth. "What is this Elder One he spoke of?" she asked Barris, nodding towards Denam's limp, bound body.

"I do not know, Seeker," the man replied. "But I am determined to find out." He then turned to Cullen. "I knew the red lyrium was trouble. I assure you that the lower ranks were never introduced to the stuff. They are fighting, ser, but we can use your help."

Cullen gritted his teeth and cast another look outside, scenarios and possibilities whipping around in his head. The front gates had been drawn shut, trapping the templars inside to await their 'purge'. Elsa's safety was his first concern, but he couldn't see a way out. It was unlikely the smaller exits were not guarded as well and increasing numbers of red templars showed up on the walls.

Her hand touching the one clenched around his sword made him look away from the battlefield outside. While the fear had not gone, some of the shock had made way for calm determination.

"We need to see this through," she said, her voice steady. "I can do it."

His other hand closed over hers without thinking as he looked at her. She nodded, smiling softly. He took a deep breath, squeezing shortly before he let go.

"Do you know where the Lord Seeker is?"

"Yes," Barris nodded. "We can reach him through the inner courtyard. Follow me."

"Protect the Herald," Cullen ordered, unnecessarily. The others were gathering around her already, forming a shield between her and whatever was awaiting them. "And cover lady Vivienne. I do not know what powers these templars possess."

"Your concern is touching, Commander," Madam de Fer answered. "But with respect, neither do you of me."

Cullen smirked at her, before turning his attention to Elsa. He watched her close her eyes, breathe in as she lay another arrow against her bow, and slowly opening them again. A single nod in acknowledgement and they were off, out of the room and up the staircase, where their footsteps echoed ominously against the stone walls.

_Andraste preserve us._

o - o - o

The templars they'd encountered in the common room had been nothing. The song echoed against the walls of the courtyard, a thousand times louder than it ever had in the Gallows. Lyrium grew from under their armour, pulsing and crackling. It tried to seduce him, draw him into a haze that clouded his mind and dulled his senses. It was only his fear of the stuff that kept him from licking his lips like a hungry creature — the distorted substance had a pull that was even harder to resist than its counterpart.

"What were they thinking?" Varric growled. For once, there was no trace of humour in the dwarf's voice. "Didn't you tell anyone about your crazy-ass knight-commander when Hawke and I were hiding out?"

"I did," Cullen replied through clenched teeth. Three archers on the walls, two warriors, no way to see around the corner… The templar recruits were fighting, but most hadn't made it up here yet. They were largely on their own for now. "I informed the other Circles of the red lyrium, but I don't know what they did with the information."

"I guess no one expected for it to start growing on the surface," Varric replied, his eyes shifting around the courtyard as well. "But to ingest that shit? They've lost their minds, I tell you."

Cullen had few other explanations than madness for the behaviour of the Lord Seeker. Officers like Barris, however, were only guilty of trusting their commanders. He did not feel their sins should be equated to those of their higher-ups. If they were… No, he wouldn't entertain that line of reasoning, at least not for the moment.

"Was that the Lord Seeker?"

Elsa's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She was staring in the distance, but there was nothing to see when he followed her gaze.

"What do you mean?" Cassandra asked.

"That… voice? You didn't hear it?"

All shook their heads. Confusion registered in her face for a second, then she shook her own.

"Must have been my imagination. Let's continue."

He wanted to do something, ask her how she was or reach out to her. But the lyrium tugging on the corners of his mind made it hard enough to focus on the task at hand. Besides, she wouldn't be receptive anyway. It pained him to see that the grey eyes had dulled over, far away and unreachable. If it was how she could manage, however, he wouldn't try to throw her off.

"Focus on the archers," he told her and Varric. "We'll take those on the lower ground."

"I've got you covered," Vivienne assured them, her mana already coalescing at the tip of her staff.

The two warriors charged in, flanked by Barris and the few officers who had survived with him. Vivienne's barrier slid over their skins before they'd reached their target. Cullen's first blow struck his adversary in the neck, shattering crystal and cutting through flesh before the man had a chance to fully turn around. More approached from their other side, weapons raised and eyes glowing red. He readied himself, side by side with Cassandra, shields raised high and swords at the ready.

Whether it was the lyrium that had corrupted their minds or something else, these men no longer fought like templars. Their moves were reckless, their posture uneven. Two of them charged at them, but were quickly felled as they sidestepped their advances and struck them from behind. Others became slightly more careful after that, circling them with barely contained eagerness, like hungry wolves closing in on a prey. The archers came crashing down from their perches, screaming until they hit the ground. A quick glance in their direction showed more burns and crossbow bolts… but no arrows.

The pack that had closed in around them made its move. Metal glanced off his shield and the magical safeguard. He caught one of the strikes with his sword, locking his attacker in. The man leaned close, pushing his weight against him to break his stance. The raspy breath itched on his skin. To his horror, Cullen saw that he could no longer discern pupils in the white hot eyes that glowed red at their edges. He tensed his muscles and pushed back with force, causing the knight to stagger backwards. A heavy slice of his sword cut through the air, and the man's head cleanly rolled onto the ground.

A sharp blow to his side broke through his defences, knocking the air from his lungs. Cassandra was on him seconds later, providing cover while he caught his breath. They positioned themselves, backs pressed together and covering the sides with their shields. Templars lurched at them from all directions, failing to break through, until suddenly, the onslaught ceased. Cullen searched around, unsure of what had changed, only to barely see a mountain of a man charging at them with a shield as tall as himself.

The tower shield slammed into them before they could act, sending them hurtling through the air. He crashed hard into the ground, biting back a scream as a sharp crack snapped his elbow. He looked beside him in a daze to find Cassandra. Blood trickling down her temple, she raised her hand to summon her powers. The monstrous knight, lyrium rising from his shoulders, halted for a moment, but then continued to raise his mace in preparation of the killing blow.

He never saw the arrow hit. Suddenly it was there, sticking out of the knight's visor. He continued to tower over them, stupidly holding his weapon in the air. The smell of burned flesh seared the air as his veins lit up from the lightning bolt that struck him from above. Another arrow, a bolt, and another arrow struck next to the first. Slowly, the man sunk to the ground. Cullen rolled aside to dodge the falling mace, while the knight slumped down into an immovable pile of bloody metal and lyrium.

More arrows lanced through the air, taking down the remaining templars with a single shot or two. Vivienne appeared next to them, her fingers deftly checking their bodies for injuries. He felt her magic course through him as she healed the most pressing ones, knitting the broken bone in his arm. The Iron Lady's forehead was beaded with sweat. Although each new spell cost her more effort, she stubbornly pressed on. She pulled a blue vial from her bag, downed it in one go, and continued to mutter incantations until she'd patched them both up. Cullen would have told her to stop and preserve her energy, but his attention was on Elsa instead.

The Herald was advancing beyond them, her pace steady as she released one arrow after another and took down more red templars that came spilling from the upper keep. Her face was twisted with concentration, not acknowledging anyone else around her or even pausing after she'd sent another target howling to the ground in pain. Eventually, new ones stopped coming. She stood frozen, her charged bow still pointed at the upper level, when something he couldn't identify darkened her expression even further.

Cullen quickly pushed himself up, ignoring the lingering pain in his arm even after Vivienne's attentions. Varric stood a little away from her. The dwarf glanced uncertainly at him as he came towards them, his expression one of deep concern.

"I think we're good for a bit, Sterling," he said tentatively. "You got them."

She didn't reply, but relaxed her bow, muttering something under her breath.

"Elsa?"

"I'm fine."

She turned sharply to look at a point somewhere on the floor. She angled her head as if she were listening to something, before giving it a small shake and looking up at him.

"Are you and Cassandra okay?"

"We'll be fine…" Cullen replied, eyeing her with mounting apprehension. "Are you sure —"

"We should continue, no?"

"Yes… we should."

The door behind them burst open. They whirled around, but it was no red templars coming through it. Some of the recruits from below had fought their way up and Barris, now limping and sporting a large bruise around one of his eyes, quickly walked over to them.

"Secure the perimeter," he told some of them. "You three, come with us. We need to reach the Lord Seeker and get to the bottom of what's been going on."

Though the others were of the same rank, they nodded eagerly at his instructions. It seemed they were all too pleased to have anyone lead them who wasn't obviously insane. Cullen fervently hoped their slightly bolstered numbers would make enough of a difference. Elsa had stopped muttering to herself, but her face was so pale she looked about to faint. The sooner they could get her out of here, the better…

They continued to fight their way through. The higher in the keep they went, the more twisted the song became. It wasn't a melody so much anymore as it was a hum, incessantly drumming on the walls of his brain. Somewhere in the background, something else began to creep in among the red haze as well. A presence, both familiar and alien. Something lurking in the shadows, probing their minds. It sent a faint sense of déjà vu slithering around in his chest. Whatever was hiding here… it wasn't from this world.

At last they reached the upper keep and, quite suddenly, all resistance ceased. An eerie silence fell over the dusky courtyard, only disturbed by a cold wind whistling through the cracks in the stones. The sounds of combat from the lower barracks were barely audible. They stood frozen at the edge of the deserted garden, mistrustfully eyeing its apparent tranquillity. The temperature seemed to have dropped to below freezing. The air turned to ice in his lungs, making every hair on his body stand on end.

"Stay close," he told Elsa.

At first he couldn't tell if she'd heard him, so distant she seemed to have become. Eventually she gave a barely visible nod in affirmation. They carefully moved through the courtyard, stepping over fallen templars as they went, until they reached the stairs. A lone figure emerged at the top, looking down on them.

"Lord Seeker Lucius?" Cassandra whispered.

The man smirked, before turning away and disappearing from view. Cullen exchanged a look with the Seeker. Her initial shock and confusion had been replaced with rage, yet it was Elsa who took the first step, her gaze fixed on the top of the stairs. They flanked her as she continued to climb, slowly and decisively, until they reached the top. The Lord Seeker stood by himself, unarmed and with his back turned towards them, yet somehow more menacing than any of the disfigured templars they'd faced.

Although he couldn't yet know what was about to happen, Cullen instinctively knew that every following moment would be forever etched into his memory. The world seemed to slow as he watched Elsa take another step forward, the fading sunlight reflecting in the loose strands of hair that whipped around her head. The Lord Seeker turned towards her, his mouth twisting into a gleeful smile, and dashed forward, a hungry beast pouncing its prey. Cullen yelled at him to stop, but his voice seemed to evaporate before him, leaving nothing but suffocating emptiness. He moved to block the man's path, but the gloved fingers managed to get past him and close on the white fur lining her shoulders. They gripped the delicate hairs with force, yanked them back, and roughly pulled Elsa forward. She got knocked against Cullen's shoulder. His shield dropped from his hand, sending a shiver through the ground as it connected with the stone, and he chased after them, stretching out his hand to catch her.

Time came to a screeching halt as his fingers clenched down on the man's arm. Elsa's face was frozen in pure terror beside him, her eyes fixed on the Lord Seeker's malevolent grin. Then, suddenly, everything happened faster than ever. The knight's expression went from euphoria to shock within the span of a second, before he was blasted backwards and crashed through the doors behind him. Elsa got thrown back by the force, tripping over her cloak. Cullen only barely caught her, stumbling back to keep them from falling, while she struggled against his grip.

"Elsa —"

One of her hands flailed through the air and lashed him across the face. He let go of her and she scrambled back, her eyes wide with fear. His skin burned where she'd struck him as he stared at her. The girl he'd been so close to only a day before was standing as far away from him as possible, frantically looking at the people around her. She took shuddering gasps of breath, her chest rising and falling like a hunted animal, further shaking her trembling body.

"Sterling?"

Her eyes snapped to Varric. The rogue slowly inched closer, holding up his hands in front of him.

"It's okay," he said, not taking his eyes off hers. "It's only us."

For a moment she seemed to calm down, until a sickening ripping sound made her jump. Cullen tore his gaze away only just in time to see the Lord Seeker disappear, morphing into a fleshy creature with long limbs and a twisted body. It raised itself up and let out a harrowing shriek, before vanishing in a puff of smoke and disappearing into the hall.

"The Lord Seeker?" Barris said, staring at the barrier that had sprung to life over the altar.

"A demon…" Cassandra replied, disbelieving.

"Envy."

They all whirled around to look at Elsa, who had wrapped herself in her arms. She appeared inches shorter than she was and continued to tremble with every fibre of her being, but her eyes had lost the wild craze that had been in them a moment before.

"It's called Envy," she repeated in a small voice.

"Did it try to possess you?" Vivienne took several determined paces towards her, but halted when the girl shrunk back against the wall. "It's alright, darling," she said, her voice surprisingly soft. "I can help."

"Please," Elsa said, shaking her head, "I'll be okay. Just… give me a moment." She looked up and found his eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Just don't touch me. Please."

He swallowed against the shard that had lodged itself in his throat. More than anything he wanted to comfort her, but he couldn't go near her, nor think of anything to say that would help. So he stood frozen, oblivious to the consternation among the templars and Barris rallying them to take the monster down.

Cassandra slowly moved towards her, holding the bow Elsa had dropped in her hand. She stopped a few feet away, held the weapon out to her, and waited.

"Surely you don't expect her to continue now, Seeker?" Varric said angrily. Cullen felt himself sharing the dwarf's indignation.

The Seeker did not respond. Her attention was firmly fixed on Elsa, who stared uncertainly at the bow.

"Our task isn't done," Cassandra said. "Envy is a powerful being. In their weakened state, the templars might not succeed against it if we leave them now. And if the Herald of Andraste falters before them, they might not trust us to help close the Breach."

"Cassandra!" Varric hissed. "Fuck the templars and what they think. They —"

"This isn't the world you're used to," she continued, ignoring the dwarf. "But it is the one you live in. You can't hide from it, but I believe you are strong enough to handle it."

The girl's expression darkened before them. She took a long breath before meeting the Seeker's gaze. When she did, Cullen wasn't sure if she was going to hit Cassandra next or if she would turn away and march down the stairs. She did neither. Instead, she reached for her bow. Cassandra held on to it for a moment, a near indiscernible moment passing between them as both their hands rested on the wood. Elsa took the weapon, held it for a moment, and then drew another arrow to load it with.

"Let's finish this then," she said, the last of the tremors ebbing from her voice. "So that that creature may never crawl into someone's mind again."

"Sterling, you don't have to."

"Yes, Varric." The corner of her mouth pulled up for the briefest of moments as she looked at him. "Thank you… but I do."

The dwarf sighed deeply, then nodded. He cocked his crossbow with a satisfying clank.

"All right," he said, resting the weapon on his shoulder. "Just know these templars don't deserve you."

"Oh, don't worry," she said grimly. "I am not doing it for them."

o - o - o

While Barris and the rest of the Order held the hall, their group explored the rest of the keep. The extent of the templars' madness rapidly became clearer with every room they cleared. While the corrupted knights had been disturbing, their commanders were disfigured to a point that was no longer human. Abominations twisted with lyrium moved with unnatural speed, no longer using weapons but rather their misshapen claws to strike at them. Red crystal shot up from the ground around them and wherever they touched. The stuff itself instantly continued to grow on whatever surface it came in contact with.

Cullen continued to look at Elsa when he could, but she never looked back. She was at Varric's side, her face a hardened mask of determination as she took one shot after another. Any more of the monstrous sights around them seemed to simply glance off her or were silently absorbed. A bust of the Orlesian empress stood in a chamber, surrounded by candles and with a crazed note hanging from a dagger piercing her forehead. Elsa paused in front of it, though her gaze was focused on a point behind the statue. He thought she might remove the weapon sticking out of Celene's head, but she simply turned and walked from the room without giving it another glance. Letters that spoke of the wilful instalment of Envy in place of the Lord Seeker received similar treatment, as did a note they found next to a shipment of lyrium.

She barely looked at the templars when they rejoined them in the hall. Instead, she merely went to stand at a safe distance as they prepared to break down the demon's defences. Cullen walked with her, avoiding the lyrium ritual while trying to plan for what was still lying ahead.

"Are you alright?" she asked. He glanced at her. Her hair had largely come undone and now spilled down her shoulders. She'd crossed her arms in front of her chest as she watched Barris drink from the goblet. Everything from her stance, the messy mane of hair, and the dark glint in her eyes, reminded him of an angry, silver lion. "With the lyrium, I mean."

"Yeah… Don't worry."

The relentless hum of the red stuff had lessened, though the pure song of the original sounded even more appealing than usual in its place. He swallowed as he watched the philter being passed around, grateful he wasn't nearer to it.

"Are you okay?" he asked tentatively.

She huffed through her nose, a sound somewhere between a bitter laugh and a derisive snort. "… Am I okay?"

They watched the ritual as she mulled over her answer. The templars banged their swords against their shields, firing themselves up. She looked beyond them, grey eyes hardening, and readied her bow to meet the red templars charging through the barrier.

"Honestly," she said through gritted teeth, "I have no fucking clue."

o - o - o

Cullen could feel the demon before it emerged. Elsa, however, clearly still shared more of a connection to the creature. She shut her eyes tightly as they exited the keep, cursing under her breath.

"Show yourself!" she snapped, glaring at the empty balcony. "You miserable cretin!"

Green light pulsed from the ground before her. She stepped back, drawing her bow as he and Cassandra moved in front of her. The Seeker and him quietly decided a strategy between themselves. He charged forward, while she circled around and approached the creature from behind. The sky cracked open above them, chilling the air as a freezing wind began to blow, while bolts rapidly lodged itself in the demon's chest. Elsa's arrows remained behind for a moment, but skewered the monster's wrist just before it almost took a successful swipe at him. It recoiled, grasping its limb, and vanished.

It continued to flit in and out of existence, seemingly trying to find its way back into the Fade and morphing between its own shape and those of others. One moment he was facing Cassandra, while a second later it would be a nobleman, a Chantry mother, or the Lord Seeker. The weaker it became, the less it seemed to know its identity. Its shapes became increasingly distorted — a Chantry mother with the legs of a nobleman, Varric's head balancing on top of the Lord Seeker's body, himself wearing Cassandra's armour.

A spike sprung from the ground, throwing them back as the monster took its original shape with a loud crack. Cullen was the first back on his feet. He charged in, sword raised high to finally end the nightmare, when he froze in his tracks.

Grey eyes were looking at him, silver hair flowed in the wind. He knew it wasn't her, but the softness of her expression made him unable to lift his weapon against her. She smiled, the way she had done only when they'd been alone, and took a step forward, gracefully gliding across the ground towards him.

The arrow struck her between the eyes. She let out a harrowing shriek, her face melting away from her bones. Her limbs rapidly coiled from her body, pink flesh shiny with ooze. The monster lay sputtering on the ground, body twisting and twitching, but not dead. The real Elsa appeared next to him, her face ablaze with fury.

"Kill it."

He raised his sword and plunged it into the creature's chest, twisting it in place. He didn't retract it, not even long after it had stopped moving.

The others gathered around them. Cassandra briefly touched Elsa's shoulder. Though she no longer recoiled, there was no warmth in the Herald's expression either. She continued to stare at the creature before them, motionless, and didn't even look up when the rest of them did at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Cullen wasn't sure which store cupboard or chest Abernache had managed to hide himself in, but the man was alive and, miraculously, untouched by the fight. Barris and the other templars were in lesser conditions, heavily injured and drained from the effort of dispelling the demon's barrier. At least there were a great many who had escaped corruption. It didn't make him as happy as it should have.

"Herald," Abernache began uncertainly, "I sincerely apologise for losing countenance amidst that chaos. That was… unfortunate. I do hope it won't affect our concord."

Elsa closed her eyes, exhaling audibly, but didn't turn around. The man shifted uncomfortably in his place, before deciding to retreat a step. Barris took his place, cleared his throat, and straightened himself up before speaking.

"The demon is dead. Andraste be praised; she shielded you from its touch."

A snort escaped her, though Cullen didn't think anyone besides him heard it.

"The templars are ready to hear what the Inquisition needs of us."

Still she did not respond. Her back remained towards them, her eyes firmly focused on the dead demon at her feet, his sword still sticking up from its bony chest. A deafening silence hung over the shrine, only disturbed by the knights shifting in their place with guilty looks on their faces.

"You need to tell them something," Cullen whispered eventually.

She shook her head. "I can't even look at them right now."

"I understand this is difficult, Herald," Cassandra added in a low voice. "But we still need to close the Breach."

"You tell them that," she snapped.

Cassandra's brow furrowed in concern, but her expression remained stern.

"It has to come from you."

Elsa breathed another scoffing laugh and raised her head. Her gaze was fixed on the Breach hovering in the sky, no less ominous despite the distance.

"Fine," she spat. "It will come from me."

She whirled around and walked towards the army awaiting her. Cullen couldn't blame some of the men for shrinking back. The air of fearsome regency, combined with the feral anger radiating from her almost made him drop to the knee himself.

"You are ready to hear what the Inquisition needs from you?" she repeated. "Do you really need me to tell you?" Her arm snapped out behind her, pointing at the Breach. "That should have been closed weeks ago, around the time when you forgot your vows to protect the innocent from harmful magic. If any of you remember what being a templar is supposed to be about, now is the time to show it. If you do not, I suggest you get out of my sight."

Whatever the knights had heard about the Herald of Andraste before, it had probably been of a more gentle version than the one standing before them. Her words resonated through the crowd, stirring them to action. Affirmative murmurs sounded from all around, while backs got straightened and fists slammed into chest plates in salute. These men and women were eager to prove themselves, but he wondered if they'd ever be able to remake themselves in Elsa's eyes.

"You speak truths we should never have ignored," Barris answered, "but the Order is leaderless, gutted by betrayal. We must rebuild it."

"That's what they're concerned with?" Varric muttered next to him.

Evidently he wasn't the only one thinking this. Elsa wandered away from the knight, probably to hide the frustration registering on her face. She looked at the ground for a moment, then back at Cullen. What she saw, he couldn't tell, but her expression slowly changed. Before he had a chance to decipher it, she sighed and turned back around.

"Rebuild at Haven." Though her stance didn't slack, the energy was quickly draining from her voice. "Help us close the Breach. The only thing I ask is that you report to Commander Cullen. If anyone can guide your Order back to what it was meant to be, it will be him."

Barris bowed in agreement and turned towards him to salute, a gesture quickly mirrored by those standing behind him. Cullen inclined his head to them, then looked over to Elsa. What gratefulness he felt in her giving the Order another chance was quickly dampened by the sadness that lingered behind the grey eyes. Her gaze rested on him until she walked away, weaving her way between the soldiers and out of sight. Varric and Vivienne quickly followed her, while Barris and others came up to him to discuss practicalities. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach, telling him that she wasn't merely walking away, but rather walking away from him.


	11. Down the Garden Path

The moon was bright by the time they had finished the last sweep of the castle. Cullen did not tolerate anything less than three thorough passes, making sure to personally inspect each room himself as well. Not a crumb of red lyrium was to be missed, nor any clues on the plans or identity of the 'Elder One'. When Cullen finally exited the keep, he found that the nobles had already taken their leave. Undoubtedly, they were eager to get as far away from the castle as they possibly could. He couldn't wait to leave the place himself and resented the dark for making it impossible for them to do so.

He walked into the forest to find their camp, situated out of sight beside a stream. Cassandra was the only one still up, cleaning her equipment by the fire. Varric sat outside one of the tents, snoring softly with his chin resting on his chest.

"He won't leave Elsa's side," Cassandra said quietly when he sat down beside her. "Lady Vivienne retired the moment we'd set up the tents. All the healing took a lot out of her."

"She's a good ally to have," Cullen replied, beginning to take off his own armour. "It's not often you find a mage with such a positive view of templars."

"Do you think they deserve it? After today?"

He arched an eyebrow at her. "The officers weren't to blame. It's men like Denam that led them astray. We found proof he knew of the red lyrium's effects, yet he still fed it to his subordinates."

She put away her sword and picked up a stick. "He'll be judged for his crimes," she said, poking the fire. "Are you comfortable leading them?"

He removed his gloves and bracers. They were crusted with blood and ooze, as was most of his armour. His tunic stuck to his body from sweat. He pulled it off, welcoming the crisp night air on his bare skin. The Seeker's eyes followed him as he walked over to the creek. He wondered if any amount of bathing would ever be enough to wash this day away, but it granted some temporarily relief at least.

"It's… not what I expected after leaving," he said slowly. "The Order has strayed so far I barely recognise it. But… the Inquisition has given me a chance to make things right. I believe they deserve the same. So I'll help them, if I can."

He continued washing up in silence. The Seeker waited until he'd finished, her thoughts lost somewhere in the flames before her. She got up when he returned, handing him a towel. She held onto it for a moment when he took it, eyeing him intently.

"I have not regretted recruiting you for a moment, Cullen," she said earnestly. "If they don't make the most of this second chance, it won't be because of you."

She smiled reassuringly and released her grip on the cloth. The Seeker stretched her arms overhead as she walked to her tent, but looked back when he called out to her.

"Elsa…" He glanced at Varric slowly slumping towards the ground. "How is she?"

Cassandra sighed as she looked over to the tent as well.

"I do not know," she answered. "She washed in the river, then went to bed immediately. But she has bounced back so far, I believe Andraste will give her the strength to see it through."

The scornful look on Elsa's face when Barris brought up Andraste surfaced from his memory. He frowned at the canvas behind which she was, hopefully, sleeping peacefully.

"Cullen?"

The Seeker's look was one of uncharacteristic concern. She hesitated for a moment, perhaps wondering whether it was her place to say what she wanted to, but then made up her mind.

"She seems very fond of you."

He hoped their surroundings were dark enough to mask the colour rushing his face. Whether it was the case or not, he doubted it helped much in hiding the stutter in his voice.

"I— I think she's fond of most of us."

"Not quite in the same way, I think," she said softly. "It'll be alright. Have faith."

"…Thank you."

"You're welcome. Good night, Cullen."

"Sleep well, Cassandra."

o - o - o

They packed up at first light, eager to commence the journey home. While a few dozen veterans had still commenced the march to Haven the day before, most of the officers would follow once they'd finished gathering up the supplies left in the keep. The result was that they only travelled with their small party. Although he could tell they were all grateful for this, the atmosphere was distinctly subdued.

Early starts and favourable weather allowed them to cover a lot of ground each day, especially compared to when a horde of nobility had slowed them down. It was the longest period of time he'd spent in near constant company of Elsa, yet she might've not even been there. She rode at the back of the group, eyes not focused on anything in particular. At first, Varric tried to cheer her up with stories or pointing out things of interest around them. However, after barely getting a response from her for two days straight, even he eventually gave up. She retired to her tent the moment they made camp and didn't speak a word whenever they had breakfast.

Once they reached Haven, she hardly acknowledged Dennet or the people greeting them upon arrival. She was barely more than a wisp, moving silently trough the crowd awaiting them. She headed straight for her cabin, shutting the door behind her. Varric cast him a sad glance as he handed off his pony to one of the stable boys, before heading over to his own lodgings. While Cassandra went ahead to report to the others, Cullen's attention was quickly drawn to the work awaiting him.

It was another late night when he finally called it a day. Rylen had done well in his absence, but there had been more than a few matters that needed his personal attention. Additionally there were preparations for the arrival of the templars, like increasing the capacity of their camp and securing a larger supply of lyrium. He'd gone to get Leliana's help on this, only to be drawn into an argument about their new allies. Fortunately Josephine was more pleased with the outcome of their mission. Eventually the spymaster agreed to use her contacts in procuring the lyrium, though he caught her glaring at him from across the village more than once afterwards.

Cullen left his tent and stretched, looking out over the camp. He'd barely had the chance to enjoy the absence of nobility scurrying around it. Yet even with his headaches not bothering him as much for the moment and a plan to close the Breach finally at hand, he did not enjoy the surroundings like he had before. The Breach painted the snowy hills an unholy green and reflected eerily in the frozen lake. Jet black shadows sprouted demons in the corners of his eyes, but they vanished the moment he turned to look. Elsa had not left her cabin all day; the Herald's silent presence loomed over town like a suffocating blanket.

He was about to go back inside when something moved at the edge of his vision. Half expecting it to be another trick of light, he only briefly glanced towards it, only to whip his head around in surprise. A figure had dropped down from the wall. The dark hood fell back as she straightened herself up, revealing a glimmer of silver that shone briefly in the moonlight. She covered it back up, pulling her cloak around her, and vanished among the trees. Cullen hesitated, though curiosity soon won him over. He followed her into the forest, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

She moved fast, quietly and with purpose — whatever the reason for her nightly outing, it wasn't a mere stroll. He masked his footsteps as well as he could, though his boots crunched heavier in the snow than hers ever did. He fell back, almost losing her several times, only to come to a sudden halt when she had knelt down beside a large evergreen.

Hiding behind a tree, he watched her scoop away the snow and dig between the tree roots. Her arm was submerged to the elbow by the time she pulled out a lumpy object. It was a simple string purse, one that couldn't hold much more than a few coins, covered in dirt. She held it in her hands, cradling it like a precious jewel. His body froze when she pulled out the contents; even at the distance, he recognised it instantly. It glinted in the dark, ominous in its simplicity. Elsa dropped the pouch, clasping the object in her fist, and got back to her feet. He let out his breath only once she'd disappeared, his heart jumping back to life with a hammering thud, and hurried to catch up with her.

He didn't know for how long he followed her. Ten, twenty minutes… perhaps longer. She would be able to see him the moment she'd turn around, for they'd left the cover of the trees behind long ago, but somehow he knew she wouldn't. Her gaze remained fixed forward and her pace steady, until eventually she reached a flat stretch of rock on the other side of the lake. He positioned himself behind a lone tree… and waited.

She lowered her hood, allowing the haunting light to touch the silver strands. The wind tugged on the hem of her dress, making it billow around her feet as it whipped up the snow around her. She was still as a statue, back straight and head raised high, looking out over the valley where the village lay fast asleep.

Most people seeing her now would see the Herald of Andraste, staring fearlessly at the Breach hovering above like a silent predator. It was like something out of a painting. A few short months ago, he himself would not have questioned this interpretation. But he knew better now. Even if her perfect posture hid the weariness in her bones, her mask of tranquillity the sorrow in her face, her distress was clear as day from the way her hand clenched around the item she was holding.

Little by little, he watched the Herald crumble… and Elsa Trevelyan break.

A strangled sob tore loose from her chest, making her convulse and clutch her stomach with her free hand. Her head dropped, dragging down her shoulders and rounding her back. She sank to the ground, bracing herself against the stone with balled fists. Her body shook with every gasp for air, violent takes that dragged her back by her core and released her with a snap. Each of her cries grew louder, distorting into sounds of anguish more like those of a wounded animal than a person.

Her hand opened to reveal the artefact. She looked at it, face stained with tears until a sudden rage flashed across her features. She raised her fist overhead and brought it down with a scream, smashing the glass vial against the stone. Blood spattered in all directions, red drops landing on her face and in her hair. She continued to shudder as she stared at the fragments, though the tremors in her body slowly began to fade away.

Cullen stepped out from his hiding place and unfastened his cloak. She straightened herself up at his approach, but didn't turn around. Perhaps she'd known he was there all along, or she simply didn't care. Whatever the reason, she wasn't surprised to see him. Thin streams of blood trickled down her palm from where shards of the phylactery had dug themselves into her skin. She took his cloak with her other hand and draped it over her shoulders.

"Whose was that?" he asked quietly, full well knowing the answer.

She glanced up at him, and sighed.

"Mine."


	12. Frame of Mind

Elsa lay in the dark for what felt like an eternity. She couldn't tell if her eyes were open or shut, whether there was a ground beneath or walls around her. Her senses stretched out into the distance, every fibre of her being straining to pick up something, anything, that would give her a clue as to where she was.

There was nothing. She couldn't tell if she was standing or sitting, cold or warm, awake or asleep… alive or dead. All that was there was the silence; no beginning, middle, or end, and nothing to tell her where she was within it. If only she could remember —

"WHAT HAPPENED?"

She flinched as a voice echoed through the void, shouting her thoughts at her from the darkness. Her voice, she realised, sounding the same and completely estranged. She'd never heard herself shout like that… She barely ever even raised her voice.

_Only make yourself heard when you need to, only say what needs to be said._

"NEVER LET THEM KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TRULY THINKING."

The moment she thought the words, the silence hurled them back at her. Too loud… far too loud. It was everywhere, filling the air around her and resonating through her body like a drum. Involuntarily, her hands shot up and clutched at her hair. Every beat of the booming voice made her head feel like it was about to explode.

"Such wicked thoughts," the voice said, less loud, but no less audible. "How very interesting."

A spectre of Cassandra surfaced from the dark, sword drawn, shield high. Behind her appeared a figure, silver haired with glowing eyes, with a bow in her hand.

"It would be most unfortunate if she died…" the woman said softly, drawing back the string.

The arrow lanced through the air, piercing the Seeker in the back. Elsa gasped as the warrior fell. Both women vanished in thin air before she hit the ground.

"I would never do that," she whispered.

"But you thought it…" her voice gleefully answered.

"No! I didn't, I — I wouldn't!"

The darkness billowed as it took shape again. This time Josephine and Leliana stepped out from the shadows, talking in low voices with their heads together.

"Here," Leliana said, handing Josephine a set of papers. "I went through them. She can have them now."

"Anything in them?" Josephine asked as she thumbed through the papers.

"Her mother knows how to hide her tracks. I'll contact my scouts in the Free Marches. We'll know what they're hiding soon enough."

"We should have known not to put our faith in her. Ostwick nobility… Have you ever heard something more ludicrous?"

Their high-pitched laughter lingered long after the mirages had dissipated, stinging in Elsa's chest like needles. She drew a shuddering breath and shook her head, trying her best to drive the nasty feeling away.

"They don't think of me that way."

"Maybe not now…" whispered her voice. "But what about when they find out?"

Before she could answer, the darkness changed once more. A shimmer, like candlelight reflecting in liquid, shone from the endless depths. It came closer, quietly, the faint rustling noise of metal chafing over leather muffled by the silence. A familiar silhouette gradually came into view, but the expression on his face was one she'd never seen before.

"Abomination," Cullen growled, his voice carrying nothing of its warmth. "This is the last time I'll be tricked by your kind."

Another vision of herself materialised before him. He drew his sword, pointing it at her chest. She was sitting on the floor, hair loose and eyes on fire, staring up at him as power coalesced around her hands. A fiery blaze engulfed his figure when he moved to strike, rapidly evolving into a blinding flash. Elsa covered her eyes and ears as she shrank back into the dark, her screams unable to drown out the thundering flames.

It was pitch black around her when finally she dared to look again, except for the faint shape lying some distance away. The only recognisable thing on the charred body was a bracer with a templar emblem, a claw mark running down the length of it. Her breath climbed into her chest as she stared at it, her vision blurry from tears.

What was happening? The others… where had they gone? If they could hear this, see this… She violently shook her head. That couldn't happen, not ever. She curled herself up in a ball, covering her head with her arms. She had to keep control, had to stop this before they found her. She had to —

"KEEP IT IN! SHUT IT DOWN!"

"Stop it," she whimpered against her knees. "Please… stop."

The dark absorbed her sobs, drinking them in like a thirsty animal. There was silence, but the presence had not gone. Something was waiting, listening, thinking…

Then, she didn't know after how long, another voice began to speak. Deliberate and slow, forming the words as if it were talking in a tongue that was not its own.

"So many doors… so many locks. I did not expect your mind to be this… complicated."

She sat frozen in place, all her energy focused on smashing down any thoughts that came to mind, lest they find a way out of her head again.

"You can't hide from me…." the voice continued. "I am inside of you. Show me what you are."

A sudden tremor shook the ground she was sitting on, making her look up with a start. Stairs appeared in front of her, loudly clacking together step by step as they formed a path down into the depths. Another set was overhead, another beside her. The longer she looked, the more steps materialised from the dark; criss-crossing over each other, some upside down and others sideways, going up and down and diagonally, abruptly ending into nothingness, curling in upon themselves, or leading to one of dozens of doors.

Wooden doors, metal doors, doors of solid gold, doors with locks and doors with chains. Some had bars, others stained glass panels that shimmered with ghostly light. Many were without a name or identifier, while others had signs or plates hammered onto their frames. She couldn't read any of the messages from where she was, nor did she feel she wanted to.

"Locks to guard the locks, so many layers to seal it all away. What will let me know you?"

There was an excitement in the voice now, a gleeful anticipation dripping from every syllable. One of the doors several floors down rattled loudly, as if a phantom were trying to wring it open. Elsa had no idea what was behind the heavy slab of oak, but she was certain she did not want to see it unleashed.

Chains shot up from the corners of the massive marble frame, shooting across the dark wood and interlocking in the centre. She flinched as a massive padlock pinned them in place with a hollow, echoing clank.

"You won't keep me out!" the voice snapped. "I will know you!"

"What are you?" she yelled into the labyrinth. "What do you want from me?"

There was no answer. Instead, a loud banging sounded from several flights above her. She jumped up, panic swirling in her stomach, and saw an ornate mahogany door nearly torn from its hinges. Unlike the previous, this one she recognised. Carved into the wood with swirly letters, was her own name.

"NO!"

In a reflex she stretched her hand towards it. Flowers of ice formed around the lock and rapidly spread across the surface. An angry hiss permeated the air as the entrance to her bedroom froze over, shining crystals spreading across the landing and locking the panel in its frame.

"You can't keep it all locked away!" the voice sneered. "You'll break soon enough!"

Another clanging, this time from further below. She stared into the pit, heart hammering and blood rushing to her head. It took only a second for instinct to take over. She bolted down the stairs in search of the source, her only thought to keep the intruder from unlocking what she'd kept hidden for so long.

Chains crawled along the walls wherever she passed, like vines taking over a castle falling into ruin. Frost spread wherever her feet touched the ground, transforming the stairs behind her into an icy slide. Deeper and deeper she went, taking the steps two or three at a time. Every time she locked a door, another one began to buckle. She recognised more of them now. The heavy double doors to the dining room, a worn gate leading to the orchard, the massive entry of the Ostwick Chantry, the bookcase in the library with the hidden panel. She kept running — down, left, right, down, down — every time only barely in time to seal away the hidden memories. A couple of times one was already partly open before she could slam it shut, and the further she went, the faster the next one began to cave.

Her head was swimming, her legs burning. Every breath was accompanied by a sharp sting in her side.

_I can't keep this up._

She stopped a moment to catch her breath, only to have a door off her left nearly burst out of its frame as something bashed into it.

"GET OUT HERE, YOU WITCH!"

Her eyes grew wide and she backed away, shaking her head in disbelief. Another slam against the door, like someone throwing their full weight against it, followed by a series of thuds as Nicolai kicked against the wood.

"Leave me alone!" she cried, sinking to the floor in terror. "You don't want to do this!"

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT I WANT!"

Nothing happened when she raised her hand. She stared at the entrance through her shaking fingers, unable to get up or move way. The stench of alcohol leaked through the splintering frame, while the wood groaned under the continued abuse. She feverishly looked for an escape from the attic, but there was none. The dusty room was empty, save for a smouldering rocking horse and no other exit than the door she was trapped behind. She threw her arms over her head when it finally burst open, preparing herself for the full extent of her brother's drunken rage.

The hand that touched her carried no anger, but she flinched away from it nonetheless. It retracted instantly and waited; waited for her cries to quiet down, waited for her body to stop shaking, waited for her tears to run dry. When it finally reached out to her again she could hardly feel it, except for the faint warmth that it spread under her skin. When she opened her eyes there was no one around, and she was lying in the dark on a solid stretch of ice.

"Heavy heart that cannot heal, head ever hiding the hurt. If you keep going down, you can't ever get back up."

The voice that spoke to her was not like the other one. It was light, almost ethereal, but she no longer cared. Whatever or whoever this invisible being was, it didn't matter. She was cold, and tired. All she wanted was for this nightmare to end and to sleep.

"Do whatever you want with me," she said flatly. "I don't care anymore."

A door swung open some distance away. Horse hooves clicked on cobblestones, hounds barked in excitement, and the smell of fresh cakes came drifting onto the frozen patch where she was lying. The scene beyond the archway was a happy one — a tea party after a riding trip — yet listening to the cheerful sounds only filled her with an intense loneliness.

"You were not allowed to join."

A young man had appeared next to her, sitting cross-legged on the ice. His blond hair was mostly covered by a massive hat, his pale eyes fixed on the doorway. He'd stated the words as simple fact, with no discernible emotion. Hearing them spoken so plainly, without the heavy load they had when she repeated them in her mind, made Elsa look away from the door herself. She focused on the boy instead, and pushed herself up, gauging the unfamiliar presence in front of her.

"Are you what brought me here?"

He shook his head.

"You are always here. Envy was hurting you. I heard it and reached out, and then in, and then I was here too."

She stared at him. "I don't understand."

"Envy is hurting you. I tried to help. Then I was here, in the hearing. It's — it's not usually like this."

The boy frowned as he spoke, like he wasn't sure what to make of it either. It didn't make the situation any clearer, but his presence was faintly comforting nonetheless. He slowly rocked back and forth as he continued to think. For the first time in what felt like forever, Elsa felt like she could think herself as well.

Slowly the memories that had led her here came back. Therinfal Redoubt; her body moving on its own, arrow after arrow piercing flesh, penetrating metal, shattering crystal. There had been blood too — so much blood — pooling on the ground and staining her shoes. Varric had spoken to her, but there was no space for his voice. How could there be, when she could barely hear her own?

The foreign whisper had grown stronger, more incessant, increasingly impossible to ignore… drumming on her consciousness and spreading like a weed. Even when the onslaught of the templars had ceased, there was no silence. The voice had only grown louder, firmly rooting itself into her brain. They'd reached the upper keep. The Lord Seeker looked down on her, metal rang against stone, and then everything went dark.

"The Lord Seeker grabbed me," she said, more to herself than the boy.

The large hat bobbed up and down when he nodded.

"The Lord Seeker allowed Envy to wear his face. Now it wants to be you. You shouldn't let it."

His matter of fact tone made her laugh; it was a choked, humourless sound.

"You're talking about a demon?" she said bitterly. "What do you expect me to do about it?"

The milky eyes blinked, once, and he cocked his head to the side. "You are fighting it, but you're going the wrong way. You need to go up — It's better there."

A frozen staircase shimmered off to the side, spiralling up into the sky. There was no light to be seen, nor anything to indicate it was the way to go. Part of her knew she shouldn't stay where she was now, but she had also remembered what was waiting for her should she leave. A shudder pulled through her spine and she closed her eyes, slowly allowing the words she'd been too scared to acknowledge form in her head.

"Everyone looks to me for help," she whispered. "To know what to do, to close the Breach, I… I can't. I led them here, and it's all for nothing. Myca wasn't there and if the Order has fallen… What am I supposed to do?"

When she opened her eyes again, the boy had gone. She twisted around, searching, and spotted him next to the staircase. He was looking up along its length, his toes a mere fraction away from the first step.

She rose to her feet, feeling strangely weightless on her legs. He didn't acknowledge her when she came to stand next to him. Instead, he kept looking up. It made her wonder if he could see something there that she could not.

"It is a long way," he said eventually.

The staircase stretched into nothingness above them with no end in sight. She stared up at it, feeling the memories she'd passed before pressing down on them.

"What will happen if I go up there?"

"They will come," he said simply. "But they can't hurt you. Not if you don't let them."

"It's not that easy," she sighed.

He looked at her, evidently confused, but didn't speak. Even with her parents keeping her from all magic training, she knew she should mistrust this boy as much as the other entity that had wormed itself into her mind. Yet looking at his pale face and feeling his faint aura of solicitude, she couldn't help but trust him.

"If Envy wins, it will keep hurting. You will try to help," he explained. "Sterling."

He said the last word like a young child mimicking a parent, as if it had learned the sound, but not yet the meaning. She inhaled deeply, opening her chest and loosening her breathing. The boy stood next to her, waiting patiently, as she rolled her neck and shoulders. When finally her heart had stilled, she looked at him and nodded.

The steps gradually defrosted as they walked up, doors creaking open along the walls. Memories from years ago, from her earliest childhood, from her time in the Inquisition; some she remembered like they happened yesterday, other she hadn't recalled in years. History and hallucinations became intertwined, creating visions of which she could not tell the authenticity.

Her mother standing her on a stool, pulling her corset tighter and tighter; Hershel suppressing her magic, his templar powers burning her veins; laughing at someone's joke, his hand pushing too far up her thigh; lonely days and nights in her room; malicious whispers behind fans and layers of make-up…

Silent tears ran down her face as they climbed higher and higher. Somewhere in the distance the demon yelled and screamed as it threw more visions at them, but it no longer affected her. The boy stayed right beside her the whole time. He did not speak, did not judge; he was merely there, his silent strength carrying her through, until they finally reached the top. Smoke curled from under the final door, the heat reaching her even through the wood. This was the way out, there was no doubt about it. It was also the place she wanted to go the least. She took one more breath… then turned the handle and stepped into the fire.


	13. Gilded Cage

"What happened to you in there?"

He didn't look at her when he asked the question. In fact, he hadn't looked at her since he'd sat himself down on a rock some distance away. A fresh dusting of snow had covered his shoulders since then; it was the only indication of how long they'd been sitting there in silence at the frozen lake. Now he asked her the question that she had been so desperate to avoid on their journey back. She'd grown too tired to dodge it any longer… but that didn't make answering it any easier.

The concern of her companions had been evident ever since they'd left Therinfal. It hadn't been her intention to worry them, but nor could she bring herself to ease their minds. Their anxious looks had burned on her skin, making her want to scream at them and hide all at once. Everything that had been stirred up was still right at the surface and, for once, she did not know how to bring it back down. At night she lay awake, scared of what might await her in her sleep, while during the day she tried to make herself invisible. Anything to avoid talking about what had happened… anything to keep them from asking questions.

She'd kept an eye out for the young man with the wide-rimmed hat, but she did not see him again. He'd been atop the ramparts of the keep when they rode off, his legs dangling off the edge. The strange boy had been her primary solace during their struggle against the templars, but it quickly became evident no one else could see him. He was the only one who had seen what happened, the only one who could understand. But like the journey into her mind, there seemed to be no place for him in the real world. Soon she began to wonder if he had existed at all.

Exhaustion overtook her on the third night of their travels. The dreams she'd been so fearful of were as bad as she had expected them to be; images of crazed templars, the screams of a young girl, red lyrium, demons stalking her in the shadows, and memories both old and new. She woke up several times with a start, heart racing and tears running down her face. But she was tired, so deeply drained by everything that had happened, that each time she fell asleep again almost instantly. After a few more nights her senses had dulled to the repetitive visions, as they seemed to have done to everything else. The templars, the Breach, this Elder One plotting against the Empress… Part of her knew she should care, but the rest of her couldn't be bothered any longer. Her mind was blank as she sat atop her horse, catching only snippets of conversation that left her mind as quickly as they entered it.

"Leliana has contacts in the lyrium trade, we should be able to secure a supply for the knights."

_It doesn't matter._

"I really do not like that solution. The Inquisition should not have to rely on underground trade to procure its supplies."

"She will probably tell you that 'underground' trade is the only trade when it comes to lyrium."

_Why don't you see that it doesn't matter?_

"Look, Sterling, the Crystal Grace has started to bloom."

She glanced over to where Varric was pointing, but only faintly noticed the white petals among the green.

"Hawke is allergic to the stuff," he continued. "One time, an admirer gifted her a bottle of perfume made from it. Took her forever to figure out why she was suddenly covered in hives. She still swears it was an assassination attempt."

He chuckled, but quieted quickly when she didn't respond. She returned her attention to the front, though not on anything in particular. She could barely muster up the effort of holding the reins; her horse obediently followed the other ones anyway. The warriors had continued their conversation, but the words didn't reach her.

_Nothing matters._

It was a comforting notion, in a way. Whatever she did, if nothing mattered then it meant that she could not fail. The challenge was everyone else, as she doubted they would see it the same way. Especially not Cullen, who sat motionless as he waited for her to break the silence. She didn't even know where to begin. How was she supposed to make him understand when he knew so little to begin with?

"Envy…" She paused, unsure as to where the sentence was going. "It… showed me things —"

"What things?" He spoke quickly, betraying the inner unrest masked by his calm exterior.

"Eh… memories. Visions, I suppose. It tried to trick me. Reveal more about myself."

"Yes… Demons will do that."

She watched him from the corner of her eye, waiting for him to continue. He didn't. Instead he took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he looked up at the sky. The Breach coloured the plating of his armour a vivid green, the red cloth a muted brown. She couldn't tell what he was thinking with the unholy light washing out his features. Perhaps he was unsure as to what required enquiry first, or maybe his own experiences kept him from probing further into hers. As long as he didn't ask directly, she felt little inclination to elaborate.

"You're a mage," he said eventually.

The topic was hardly an improvement over the previous. He did not seem eager to tackle it himself either. There was a weariness to the statement, as if he'd already had the same conversation once upon a time. His eyes refocused on the ground between his feet, as if the answer was lying there somewhere in the snow. She averted her gaze, unwilling to see her answer land.

"Yes."

Scenarios of his response conjured themselves in her mind. His and that of the others should he tell them, as well as the repercussions that would follow. After years of hiding, there it was. She'd finally said it. If she could feel, she imagined she'd be surprised. Somehow it seemed like the revelation of her secret should have been a more momentous occasion. After the struggle and discipline it had taken to lock away, it was disproportionate to simply be sitting here in the snow. Birds didn't fall from the sky, the moon didn't stop shining, and the world kept turning as it always had; everything around them — from the Breach, to the village, to the stone underneath — stayed exactly the same. She couldn't read Cullen's expression, but he too seemed like he should be more affected. She'd expected him to get angry, to yell, to take her into custody… something. Instead he merely nodded, not even looking up from the ground as he did.

"An apostate."

"I… suppose so. Yes."

"Why?"

"Why? I'm not sure —"

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Oh, I see. Well… I don't tell anyone."

"Right," Cullen sighed. "I guess that is rather obvious."

They sat in silence another long while after. She didn't often find herself at a loss for words, but she had no idea how to continue this particular conversation. It would be easy to let him believe she was just another noble who had used her status and coin to avoid the Circles. Or even that she was some rebel mage, undercover and silently working against the system. She could make something up, protect the parts of her history that still remained unknown, and he probably wouldn't question it. But even though all of that was infinitely easier than telling him the truth, she couldn't bring herself to do so.

"I'm barely a mage," she heard herself say. "I… don't know how to use it."

His eyes snapped to hers in a flash. A single blink, after which he simply stared at her incredulously.

"You don't know how to use it?"

"No… Just how to keep it under control."

"Hold on." He turned towards her now, brow furrowed, "I don't understand."

She wished he could just see the things she was trying to tell him. How was she ever supposed to explain this?

"My family would help me suppress it when I was younger. As I got older, I learned to control it myself. My emotions and… magic with it. I never had much, just enough to —" She swallowed away the lump forming in her throat. "Just enough to be a danger to others."

Cullen continued to stare at her, but she didn't manage to hold his gaze. Instead she focused on her hands. They'd been so numbed by the cold that she could hardly feel the shards of the phylactery still sticking out of her palm. Any moment now, she expected him to get up, turn away, and never look at her again. To wake the others and tell them their Herald was an unschooled mage. Would they lock her up again while they decided what to do with her? Make her go through a Harrowing to prove that she wasn't a ticking bomb, waiting to go off? If not for the boy in the hat she would have already failed that test…

"They helped you suppress it?"

She raised her head, momentarily confused. Though his expression had been difficult to read before, that was no longer the case. His amber eyes had darkened to a hard brown and lines carved his cheeks from the tightening of his jaw.

"Yes," she said tentatively. "They're templars —"

"I know they are templars," he snapped. "I have 'helped' mages suppress their skills when I had to often enough; it is never without harm. Are you telling me that's the kind of skills your family used on you as a child?"

She was taken aback by this sudden anger. Of everything she had just told him, she had not expected him to focus on that part.

"Well, yes. It was necessary."

"Necessary?" His voice went up a note as he sprung to his feet. "It wouldn't have been if they'd brought you to a Circle."

"You don't really believe that," she said dismissively. "Were mages treated differently in Kirkwall? Because that might be where I would have ended up."

"They —"

He had started to pace back and forth, but halted in his tracks.

"They weren't," she asserted. "I had my family, I had a life. Or I would have, if the world hadn't gone mad and I hadn't stumbled into some insane plot to destroy it. Had I been in a Circle I would either still be there now, or be an outcast in Redcliffe that no one wants anything to do with."

"But… you can't just ignore that you're a mage!"

"Why not?"

His eyes were wide and disbelieving. She watched him struggle with her words for several minutes. He searched her face, his mouth opening to speak several times and closing again. Eventually his stance relaxed and he walked back to his rock, where he sat himself down with a sigh.

"I don't know. It just seems… wrong." He looked her over, evaluating. "It doesn't cause problems? Not using it?"

"As opposed to using it?"

His face didn't light up, but remained lined with concentration. She could see him searching for objections, but she knew he wouldn't find anything convincing. A green flash struck down from above, briefly brightening the night sky. Anyone would be hard-pressed to make a case for magic in this setting, let alone either of them.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," he sighed, glancing at the village. "This is… You may be able to ignore it, but I'm not sure I can."

"Are you going to tell the others?"

"I suppose you don't want me to."

"Rather not, especially with an army of templars on the way. I imagine some of them wouldn't be too thrilled to find out."

"No… I imagine they wouldn't be."

Cullen dropped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger. The man seemed more tired than ever. They'd left at daybreak this morning and rode for half the day. While she had holed up in bed until evening, he had likely not had a break since their return.

"I'm sorry, Cullen," she said quietly. "I never intended to burden you with this."

"Were you just never going to tell me?"

The anger had left his voice, but she had preferred it before… With its tone softened, his hurt was as evident as the Breach above their heads.

"I — I don't know. I just… don't want you to think ill of me."

He huffed a humourless laugh, scarce more than a breath.

"Think ill of you…" he said, so quietly she could barely hear him. "So that's what you were talking about."

"I — not really. I had a bit much to drink, but I meant more —"

"I don't really want to go back there right now."

"Oh… Okay, yeah. That's okay."

He nodded slowly. "So, what do you plan to do now?"

"…What do you mean?"

"You haven't spoken in days, have completely cut yourself off from everyone around you. You put the templars in my care, though I do not understand why. And now we're here. Our people follow you, but you seem to have turned your back on them. Are you giving up?"

She had seen the look he gave her before, but it had not come from him. It had been Cassandra's, holding out her bow to her after she'd escaped Envy. The dark eyes had left no room for misinterpretation; quitting was not an option. Elsa had wanted to smack the weapon from her hand, walk from the keep, and never look back. Yet something more had stirred behind the Seeker's stern glare, surfacing slowly the longer she looked. She hadn't been able to identify it then and she couldn't now, but one thing was clear; there was only one acceptable answer to his question.

"No…" she sighed. "No, I'm not giving up."

Neither of them spoke for considerable time. Eventually she failed to suppress a shiver, prompting him to get to his feet.

"Come." He held out his hand. "You'll freeze if we stay here." She hesitated a moment, but then allowed him to pull her up. He quickly took her other hand as well and turned both over to inspect her palms. "We should take the glass out," he stated, "but I think you'll be fine without a healer."

He dropped her hands and began to walk back towards the camp. She followed, pulling his cloak closer around her while she kept her eyes fixed on the back of his head. The conversation appeared to have ended. It seemed like there was so much else that still needed to be said, but she couldn't find the words to say it. She had no idea what his opinion was of her now, except that it couldn't be good. If this was how they left it and ended the night… She didn't know how to recover from that, but neither did she have a clue on how to fix it within the time it would take them to reach the village.

She searched her brain the entire way for something to say, but swallowed back down whatever came to mind. Nothing would change the reality of the situation; not the parts that he now knew, nor the rest of it. Who could even blame him, if he wanted nothing to do with her? She certainly did not want to make things harder for him than they already were.

To her surprise he didn't stop at her door, like he had done in the past. He held it open for her instead, then stepped inside himself.

"Sit down."

She obeyed the order and sat down on the edge of the bed, while Cullen walked to the corner to toss some wood into the fireplace. He bent down to light it with a few quick strikes from a flint and steel. Moments later the room was bathed in warmth, washing over her like a hot bath. It was only then that she realised how cold she'd gotten. Her hands were shaking when Cullen pulled off his gloves and took hers in his own again.

"I can do it myself," she said quietly. "You should get some rest."

He ignored her and instead continued to focus on removing the glass. Her senses slowly returning, she winced as he pulled the shards from the cuts. He paused whenever she did, waiting for her signal before he continued. His hands were warm, much more so than hers, and his right slightly more callous than the left from handling a sword. As he continued to work, gently moving her hand between his own to check it from every angle, she felt her eyes beginning to water.

"Why did you dig it up?" he asked, not looking up. "Why tonight?"

"I don't even know." She blinked against the tears, causing one to run down her cheek. "It's all such a mess. Seeing the templars like that. They have been a part of my life for so long… When I was growing up they always seemed larger than life."

"Defenders of the faithful," Cullen added. A wry smile formed on his lips, tugging on his scar. "I know what you mean."

"Right," she sniffed. "They're supposed to know better… to protect those who can't protect themselves. I —"

The rest of the words got caught in her throat. Cullen finished attending her hands, but didn't let go of them yet. Instead he simply held them, patiently waiting for her to regain her composure.

"You trusted them," he finished for her.

She nodded. It was all she could muster.

"Even when they hurt you?"

"It… was necessary."

Cullen remained quiet, while she focused on bringing her body back under control. Her usual techniques had long lost their effectiveness. What helped her most in the end were his hands still enveloping her own. Even though she was no longer freezing, she felt colder than ever when he finally let them go and leaned back in his chair.

"Leliana once told me that you had a sister."

Though she'd been expecting them for some time, the words still hit her like a punch to the stomach. The old pain had lain dormant for years, only surfacing occasionally when someone had accidentally mentioned her name. A week ago it had returned with a vengeance, when Envy had forced her to relive that fateful moment. Now, it hurt more than on the day it had first materialised.

"I did," she whispered. "She died."

"…An accident?"

"Yes…"

The visions came rushing back once again, like they had done so often since the demon violated her mind. She shut her eyes in a reflex to block them out. Roaring flames, high-pitched screams, a smouldering rocking-horse —

She jumped when Cullen's hand suddenly touched the side of her face. It stroked back the hair that had fallen over her shoulder, his thumb wiping away a tear that had rolled down her cheek. He then traced the line of her jaw, lifting her head with the edge of his finger.

"Listen to me." There was an intention in the amber eyes that made it impossible to look away. "We need to tell the rest of the leadership. If you won't, then I'm telling you now that I will. We need to know if this affects our plan to close the Breach." The creases in his forehead deepened. "But even if it doesn't, you can't keep doing this. Trust me."

He let go of her face and got up. Before she registered what was happening, he had already crossed the cabin and was opening the door.

"Cullen!"

He paused, hand resting on the door handle, and turned around. She'd launched herself to her feet and stood frozen in the middle of the room. She didn't want him to leave, but there was no doubting the look on his face. He did not want to stay.

"What?"

"I — I just want to say," she stuttered. "The reason I put the templars in your charge. We still need them, but you're the only one in whose hands I trust them to be. You… are the most decent person I know."

He looked at her, but his expression was unreadable once more. "Try to get some rest," he said eventually. "I will call an early meeting tomorrow."

The door closed behind him with a soft thud. She stood alone, shivering despite the roaring fire. Tomorrow morning she would have to tell the others. She'd barely managed to tell one person and he wanted nothing more than to be out of her sight. Her limbs were stiff as she made her way back to the bed and climbed under the covers without changing out of her clothes.

There was no way to prepare for the meeting awaiting her, so she just closed her eyes. Tears soon began to flow for reasons she didn't understand, like it had happened every night since Therinfal. Though she had tried to stop it at first, her attempts had been mostly unsuccessful. She let them run freely instead, figuring it cost her less effort, until she finally fell asleep with the red cloak wrapped around her.


	14. Worth the Candle

Elsa woke the next morning from a sharp knock on the door. She sat bolt upright, her hair in disarray and half sticking to her face. It was barely light outside, though it did not mean much in the mountains. She pushed her grey tangles back, wondering what time it was, when the door opened a fraction.

"Sterling? Are you decent?"

Her voice caught in her throat, producing little more beyond a frog-like choking sound. When she next launched into a coughing fit, Varric carefully stuck his head around the door.

"You alright there?"

She held up her hand in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture. It didn't prove itself to be very effective, Varric's look was still far too worried for her liking. He came inside once he saw she was dressed and walked over to the table to pour her a glass of water.

"Thanks," she croaked, taking the drink from him. "I'm fine."

"Are you?" He grabbed the chair that Cullen had occupied a few hours ago. "You look like shit."

"Flatterer."

"Don't get me wrong. Your version of shit is still better than most. Just a bit less herald-like."

She downed the water in a long take and stared into the empty glass. The smile slowly vanished from Varric's face. He clasped his hands together between his knees and carefully considered his next words. As he readied himself to speak, his eye fell on something on the floor.

"Is that Curly's shoulder fluff?"

Colour rushed to her face when he pulled the red cloak up from the floor. It must have slipped off the bed when she startled awake; every time she'd woken up that night she had been clutching it with both hands.

"No! Eh — I mean, yes, it is. But, it's not —"

"Sterling, Sterling." A mischievous glint flickered across his face. "You surprise me."

"It's not like that!" He held the cloak out of her reach for a while as she tried to grab it, but then allowed her to snatch it from his hand. "Nothing happened," she muttered, spreading the fur across her lap and smoothing out the hairs.

"Considering you're alone, fully dressed and all puffy-eyed, I figured as much. But I'm glad you're talking to me again."

His smile was sympathetic as he looked her over. Would it still be that way, she wondered, after today was over?

"I'm sorry. It wasn't personal."

"That's okay, Sterling, there was a lot going on. I just want to know that you're okay."

"Thank you… I —" She paused, and caught herself. "I'm… not. I don't know. There's something I haven't been honest about. I have to tell the others today."

"… Oh."

The legs of the chair scraped over the floorboards as he inched a little closer to the bed, turning his back towards the exit as if trying to block her next words from accidentally escaping the cabin. She would have smiled, had her stomach not suddenly dropped like a brick.

"I suppose the red bear pelt in your cabin means that Curly is making you tell this something to the others?" he asked. "Is it something you told him?"

"He… found out about it. I went out to the woods last night, he was there. I — I just didn't care anymore, after everything that happened."

"Can't blame you for that," he sighed. "It was a messed up situation. You did good though, despite it all. It's a victory, even if it doesn't feel like one right now."

Elsa nodded, though she couldn't imagine anything that might ever make the events at Therinfal feel like a victory.

"So, do you want to tell me the thing?" he continued, leaning in slightly to look at her face. "I know it helps you to practice difficult conversations."

She smiled at the teasing spark in his eye, and nodded. They sat for a while, Varric waiting patiently. She turned the words over in her head, over and over, until suddenly, she simply let them go.

"I'm a mage."

There was a long moment of silence. Noises from outside told them of the slow awakening of their base. Distant footsteps crossed the path to and from the gate, while the gong rang outside the walls to signal breakfast for the soldiers. Varric continued to stare at her, as if waiting for the punchline to a joke. When it became clear she wasn't going to follow up her revelation with anything else, he straightened himself up and leaned back in his chair.

"Oh… Alright."

"… Alright?"

"I'm sorry," he shrugged, "Do you want me to be more shocked? You've read my _Tale of the Champion_, right?"

"I have…" Elsa looked him over with raised eyebrow, but there didn't seem to be anything dishonest about his unconcerned appearance. "So… you're not surprised?"

He let out a hearty laugh at her confusion. "A little, sure. But it's not like you've suddenly sprouted horns and wings and proclaimed yourself to be an archdemon. Now that would have been a twist!"

"Right…" She leaned back in her pillow. "There are stranger things, I suppose."

"Yeah," he chuckled, brushing the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. "Like falling out of the Fade and being blessed by Andraste. I'd love to see the looks on the clerics' faces when they hear the infamous Herald is a mage though. Hah, that'd be priceless!"

"People can't know," she hissed, glancing at the door. "I mean… Cullen will tell Cassandra and the others if I don't. But no one else can know."

"Why not?"

"Because! There are… things that are expected of me. I have no real talent, I can't use it. It would just ruin every chance I have at a normal life if people knew."

His laughter had vanished quickly. Now he just frowned at her, his usual cheer replaced with concern.

"Sterling…" he started, "What do you think is going to happen exactly, after you close the Breach?"

"I…"

She stopped and thought. _I will go back to Ostwick._ It was what she had begun to say. It was what she had been assuming, what had seemed like the only real possibility. She was going to go back, like she was expected to, brave her mother's ire, and probably be placed under house arrest for several months until the next social event too important for her to miss.

"I hate to break it to you, Sterling," Varric continued. "But to the world you are the Herald of Andraste. Mage or not, a normal life doesn't seem to be much of an option anymore."

She stared at him in disbelief; not at what he had said, but rather at how she hadn't realised it earlier herself.

The responses of the others ranged somewhere between those of Cullen and Varric. For Leliana it seemed like the last piece of a puzzle satisfyingly snapped into place. Elsa even thought she saw a fleeting smile pull across the Spymaster's face. Josephine, though initially letting out a small gasp of shock, displayed the most understanding of her family's decision to hide her away. Cassandra in turn showed a surprising amount of concern, though it was hard to tell whether it was for her benefit or that of everyone else. The Seeker asked question upon question about what sort of training she had received and what kinds of magic she could do. It took half an hour of interrogation before she seemed convinced of the fact that she had never performed, nor was capable of casting even the simplest spells, and that she had sufficiently learned how to close her mind against spirits.

"Did you know about this?" the Seeker eventually asked Solas, who had been standing quietly in the corner.

Cullen had invited him as their resident expert on the Breach. The Elf had not spoken a word since he'd walked in, but had simply observed her from across the table. He of all people in the room seemed most upset with her. She wasn't sure if it was because of her secret, however, or her decisions at Therinfal.

"I did not," he stated, a sharp edge to his tone she wasn't sure anyone else noticed. "If she is indeed as incapable as she says, it is to be expected that the magic of the mark masked her own."

"Will this change anything?" Cullen asked impatiently. It was clearly the question he'd been most anxious to get to.

"I do not see why it should." He finally drew his icy stare away from her to look at the others. "She has not become possessed in the presence of the Breach so far. Other than that being a possible risk, there is no reason to believe the mark won't work the way we expect it to."

He took his leave after that, not casting her another glance. Elsa waited as the door swung closed behind him. No one spoke for some time and she wasn't about to break the silence. More than anything she wanted to be back in her cabin and hide; she had never felt so exposed in her life.

Josephine spoke first, a little uncertain, but clearly with the intent to put the whole affair behind them.

"Shall we move on to current matters?" She flipped a paper on her clipboard, giving it a cheerful tap with her quill. "I have received word from my contacts in Orlais. Those clerics with a positive disposition towards the Inquisition have been very vocal and are winning over those in doubt. That, and word that we have secured an alliance with the templars, will surely help our standing in Thedas."

"The templars should be held accountable for their actions," Cassandra asserted. "Demons, red lyrium, corruption… they should be ashamed."

This comment drew out Cullen, who had been largely quiet throughout the meeting. For a while, the discussion was just like it had been during most of the other meetings; heated and a little disorganised. Leliana expressed her dismay over allowing the templars to keep their own power, while Josephine tried to frame the situation in the most positive way possible.

Elsa watched without participating, wondering if this was really the extent of the discussion when it came to her situation. It sure seemed to be. She found herself silently wondering at how — contrary to what she had been led to believe — her life's secret was actually rather insignificant to the rest of the world.

At some point the discussion came to a close — all parties seemingly a little dissatisfied, but willing to make the most of it — and the meeting was adjourned. Elsa was almost out the door already, eager to occupy herself somewhere else for the day, when a shriek came from behind. Swords were drawn and pointed at a figure that had materialised on the table, his feet firmly planted on the border between Ferelden and Orlais.

"Wait!" She threw herself forward to step between Cassandra's blade and the boy with the hat. "Don't harm him."

"You know this boy?" Leliana asked, eyeing the young man with curiosity.

"He helped me at Therinfal," she explained quickly. "Without him, I wouldn't have escaped Envy."

Cullen and Cassandra exchanged a glance, but Elsa ignored it. Her attention was fixed on the boy, who looked at her with misty eyes.

"My name is Cole," he said. "I followed you here. I want to help."

Another heated discussion broke out, but all Elsa did was look at the mysterious boy. He was exactly as she remembered… and he was real. It was frightening and comforting at the same time. On the one hand, his existence was proof that Envy hadn't just been a terrible dream, something which she had tried to convince herself of. On the other, his presence radiated the same comfort it had when she had been trapped in her own mind. With how she had been feeling, she welcomed it with open arms.

Eventually it was decided that could stay, although he should be kept under close watch. This proved itself difficult immediately, as he proceeded to vanish from the room without a trace.

Elsa hesitated as the others collected their papers and made their way out of the room, unsure of whether she should say or do something specific. Josephine's hand lightly touched her on the arm as she walked by, while Leliana gave her a small, but friendly, smile. Cassandra paused in front of her, frowning.

"I'm sorry," Elsa said, suddenly feeling very small next to the tall Seeker. "I never intended to put the Inquisition at risk."

"I believe that," the warrior replied. She placed her hand onto Elsa's shoulder and leaned in. "Just give everyone some time to process it," she said quietly.

Elsa cast a last glance across the table. Cullen hadn't left and was still scouring the map, despite there being little on it to scrutinise with such attention. She hesitated briefly, then turned to follow Cassandra from the room. There was nothing left to say.

There was little time in the following days to reflect on the meeting, or its consequences. It had been decided there was no need for her history to become public knowledge, especially with the impending arrival of the templars. So, Elsa's duties continued like they had done before Orlesian royalty showed up on their doorstep. This time she found herself busier than ever with the increase in reputation that their alliance with the Order had brought. Refugees and pilgrims continued to come in from all over southern Thedas. In addition to that, an increasing amount of local nobility showed up to witness the upcoming closing of the Breach. One night, after a long day of leading prayer sessions and showing guests around, she joked to Varric that the Inquisition should sell tickets to the event. From the way he was writing numbers in his notebook later on, she wasn't so sure he had taken it the way she'd meant.

It was in these small moments — sitting by the fire at the end of the day while the dwarf scribbled his notes — that she thought about her situation. Although she had been sure that anyone finding out the truth would severely damage their impression of the Herald, she could no longer convince herself that it was the case. Tempting fate in openly telling the templars was a step too far, but as for their people… In her dreams she had imagined them turning on her, their friendly expressions melting away and making place for scorn as they whispered behind her back. The thought had not gone, but the underwhelming response she had received so far had rather deflated it.

"Templars are on the way, yeah?" Sera had asked that afternoon. The elf had been quick to join her for archery practise, always keen to show off her skills. She let the arrow fly, vaulting backwards as she did.

"They'll be here in a few days. Does that worry you?"

"Not the funnest bunch, but they better march their asses over here quickly. The faster that thing is closed," she scoffed, making a face at the Breach, "and everything can go back to normal, the better."

"It probably won't be that simple for things to go back to normal."

"Just as long as the templars and mages stop being stupid," Sera shrugged. "You know, I don't hear anything about mages, until one of them goes bonkers. And I don't hear anything about templars until one of them goes bonkers either. If they all just stop being arseholes, everything's fine, innit?"

"You… don't care about them, as long as they don't bother anyone else?" Elsa asked her.

"Nope, think most people don't. I have to think about a bunch of stuff already. Why add more shit that has nothing to do with me?"

The elf did not appear to be alone in this attitude. Josephine was as bright and courteous as ever when Elsa dropped by her office, despite her desk nearly caving under the mountain of paperwork. Since their surge in popularity, the Ambassador's workload had easily tripled. Leliana seemed to take her as another example of how the unfair treatment of mages forced them into hiding. Though Elsa was not of the same opinion, she didn't bother to argue with her. Cassandra was perhaps the most different, watching her a little more carefully, but only when she would be talking to Cole. On all other accounts, the Seeker was exactly the same.

Cullen had, not surprisingly, the hardest time adjusting. He did not attend mass, nor talk much with her at all. The reason appeared to be the frenzy he was in to prepare accommodation for an army of templars, rather than a wish to avoid her. It took a couple of meetings for him to make eye contact with her again, and only another few before he would try to make conversation. It was far from whatever had been growing between them before Therinfal, but it was much better than anything she'd pictured. Had anyone told her that things would turn out like this, she would have been happy, relieved… ecstatic even.

_But I'm not._

She wasn't ecstatic, relieved, or happy. Nor was she sad, worried, angry or anything else that might've been appropriate in her situation. She continued to work, continued to smile, continued to show sympathy where it was wanted, and strength where it was required. She couldn't call herself unhappy… she just couldn't call herself much of anything at all.

How could she not have seen that everything was already different? That she was different? Her path had been laid out for so long and her mother's letter had been a very clear reminder of what that path was. Even before the templars had shown how flawed they really were, what had she imagined? That she'd go back home, glowing hand and all, and get married to some lord like it had always been planned? That she could just step back into her old life and pick up where she'd left off? And now that the Chantry had collapsed and the templars strayed so far, what was even left of her old life to go back to? That life in which she had spent so much energy hiding something away that most people didn't even care about?

… What was left of her?

These were the questions that came to her in the days leading up to when the Herald would try to close the Breach. They were the types of questions that would frighten most people, the types that showed just how fragile their beliefs and existence really were. Elsa would have been afraid herself… had she still been able to.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

_It's not going to fit._

Cullen stared at the map before him — a crude, but accurate depiction of Haven and the surrounding area. He'd been sketching lines, only to erase them again, and shoving around markers for what felt like hours. Somehow he felt like it should be possible, but the longer he continued, the clearer it became. There was no way hundreds of templars were going to fit into their base.

They could double up in the existing tents for now and take down some of the trees to make room for more. Perhaps they could spill out onto the lake. He sketched it up briefly, then scratched the idea. Though it was frozen solid, he preferred not to risk their new allies waking to a bath of ice water.

There was a lot more for him to do. Among other things, he had reports to read, training schedules to prepare, and supplies to be distributed. He had trouble bringing himself to do any of them. It was easier to focus on the puzzle before him, which had become a personal challenge at this point. He was determined to find a solution, even if it was only because it kept certain other thoughts at bay, though be it not very well.

Though the sky had not been green, there were too many similarities between his recent experience and one from years ago in Kirkwall to not invite the comparison. Hawke had returned from the Deep Roads a few months prior and had just taken residence in her mother's estate. Despite her new role as a key figure in the city, she still spent much of her time in the back alleys of Lowtown and most of her evenings in the Hanged Man. They'd crossed paths on the rare occasion that he joined some of the other templars for a drink and ended up sharing one on a few of them. While she mercilessly teased and flirted with him during the day, in these hours she'd largely let go of that attitude. They'd talk of nothing he could still recall now, but there had been a certain familiarity in being with her; one that he hadn't found with any of his colleagues or other acquaintances.

She would often walk with him to the docks on those nights and bid him goodnight before taking off in the direction of Hightown. She had done so this particular evening, turning at the corner to wave at him. Just as he was about to board the next boat to the Gallows, a deafening blast drew his attention back to the city. The ground shook under his boots as he sprinted to where she had just disappeared, the sounds of a fight rapidly drawing closer. Though he knew she could take care of herself, she had been drinking and, from what he could tell, she was unarmed. He reached for the dagger strapped to his belt, cursing himself for not having his sword. He rushed through the streets and rounded another corner, only to stop dead in his tracks.

The fire had died out, leaving nothing but smouldering heaps of what had been her assailants. Hawke stood in the middle of the carnage, mana coalescing around her tensed body as she listened for other attackers. She spun around when she heard him approach, the flames in her palms briefly flashing brighter. Shock registered on her face when she recognised him. Then she straightened up and the lights flickered out.

"Knight-Captain… I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

He fought the constriction in his throat, his grip on the dagger tightening instinctively.

"You're a… You're a mage."

"I am." Her tone was casual, as if they were discussing nothing more serious than what she had for supper that evening. "Rather a good one too, if I do say so myself."

"An apostate."

"Obviously." She came towards him, slowly bringing her features into better view. Her eyes drifted down, lingering on the dagger. "Is that necessary?"

He hesitated a moment, then retracted the weapon.

"Thank you," she said, smiling. "So, what happens now?"

"I should bring you in," he said thoughtfully.

"Do you really want to try that?" Her smile broadened, providing the answer. _You really don't._

He continued to look at her, wondering what the best course of action was. She had done no harm before that he could tell, had even helped the templars on occasion. But even so…

"Tell you what, Knight-Captain," she continued airily. "I can do a whole lot more for you out here than I can in your little prison. You pretend you don't know about me, I stay out of your way and don't burn down the Circle. In return, if you have the odd job your templars can't deal with, I am willing to lend a hand."

His stomach stirred uneasily. It made sense, though he was reluctant to admit it. More so, he noticed how much he preferred her solution to the idea of her being locked up with the other mages. Though Meredith insisted her methods were necessary, he wouldn't wish to see Hawke treated in such a way. If Meredith knew, however…

"You need to keep a low profile," he told her. "I can't protect you if others find out."

"Of course," she smirked. "It's my speciality."

"… Somehow I doubt that."

Her laugh was bright, stark in contrast to the charred results of her power still smoking behind her in the alley.

"I think I'd better go," she said eventually, clasping her hands behind her back, "Thank you, Knight-Captain, for your discretion."

Hawke spun round and weaved her way between the bodies, snatching what sounded like a jingling coin purse from one of them in passing. She turned when she reached the next corner. A flame erupted in her palm, lighting her face in the dark.

"Probably best we're not seen socialising anymore." Her smile had softened, no longer teasing. If he didn't know better, he would have thought it wistful. "Stay safe, Cullen."

How different Elsa's response had been to the same statement. She had averted her eyes, even closed them as she confessed. Where Hawke had been so casual, proud even, the Herald had seemed pained to her core to even acknowledge what she was.

_I don't want you to think ill of me._

Was that the impression he gave? That he disliked mages by default? It felt unfair, given the fact that he had worked well with mages in the past, Hawke being the most obvious example. Then again, could he really blame Elsa for thinking this way? It made him realise how little she knew him… and how little he knew her.

It was a frightening thought, a mage that never learned how to use her power, had not gone through a Harrowing or the proper training. Then again… as long as she had learned to resist the temptations of demons, what was the real danger? He wished he could think of another case he'd dealt with for comparison, but her circumstances proved frustratingly unique.

There had been mages in the Circle that showed little talent for spells. They would either fail their Harrowing or they would dedicate themselves to research and rituals instead. Had Elsa been in a Circle, which one would she be? One thing was clear; whichever one it was, she wouldn't have been with them now.

He didn't want her to feel bad, to think he feared her or even disliked her. But where they had finally managed to get to a place of comfort before, recent events had launched him right back to the start where he found himself grasping for a topic whenever they happened to meet.

So instead he focused on the puzzle before him. He almost convinced himself that if he solved this, his other issues would be solved as well. Perhaps at least it would give him something to talk about with Elsa. He paused momentarily, imagining a conversation in which he told her how he'd managed to fit an army into their tiny camp while she prepared to close the world-threatening tear in the Veil. He closed his eyes and groaned at how pathetic that sounded, before continuing to move markers and count beds until the evening fell.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

"What will you wear, my dear?"

"Wear?"

"Yes, darling," Vivienne chimed, inspecting the various dresses in Elsa's cupboard. "This is a momentous occasion, you must look your best. Artists will immortalise this moment in paint and sculpture in years to come, you can't have them depict you in any old thing."

"Right," Elsa replied dully. "I… don't really know. What does one typically wear when one closes the sky?"

"White is always good," the mage mused, either oblivious to her tone or ignoring it on purpose, "I would suggest the outfit you wore to meet the temp—"

"No. Not that one."

Vivienne looked up, pursing her lips slightly before continuing to rifle through her clothes.

"It was a bit of a mess afterwards. It'd probably take more time to clean than to have something new made from scratch. Oh, how about this?"

Elsa barely registered the combination she had pulled out of the cupboard, but nodded. Pleased, Vivienne laid the outfit out over the back of a chair, before moving behind her to do her hair. Elsa let her eyes fall closed as the mage's sharp nails raked through the silvery strands and deftly worked them into an elegant, braided side-bun.

The templars had arrived in camp the previous evening, where Elsa had gone to receive them with the rest of the Inquisition's leadership. The Chantry had been fuller than ever that night, with people having to stand at the edges of the room to all fit into the hall and attend the service. The templars had received their philter as well, a ritual that had extended the usual length of the ceremony by another hour. Then there were the additional songs and prayers in preparation for what they would attempt to do the next day. It had been well past midnight before she had been able to leave and get some sleep.

_Ironic. Preparing to close the Breach has made me more tired than ever to actually do it._

So she sat still on the chair in the middle of the cabin with the mage working around her, drifting in and out of conscious thought. She tried to imagine what it was going to be like this evening, but found that she couldn't. The first attempt at closing the rift had been painful, but since then she had used the mark more often. It didn't hurt to close the smaller ones, though the feeling wasn't comfortable either. It was not unlike the tingly sensation she got from Vivienne working on her hair right now, except sharper and a hundred times more intense. The Breach would be weaker tonight with the templars' influence, though of course still far larger than any of the other rifts she'd encountered. Would the mark jump forward again, as if working on its own? Would she lose consciousness and wake up three days later, like she had last time? Or… was she not going to wake up anymore at all?

_Would that be so terrible?_

The sun had almost sunk behind the mountains, colouring the sky a deep red as it made way for a pitch-black night. Elsa stood in front of the mirror, observing the result of Vivienne's efforts. Her hair shone in the fading light, asymmetrically braided with loose strands hanging down the sides of her face. It brought out her cheekbones and the line of her jaw, both even more pronounced now than before she had left home. Her eyes were lined with a black wing, emphasising their almond shape. The outfit Madame de Fer had picked — a light armour with high boots and a white and silver coat that nearly reached to the ground — focused the attention on all her best features. She looked beautiful, and that was how the world would see her too.

_Like the main course of a banquet… apple in mouth and ready to serve._

Soldiers and civilians lined the path as she exited her cabin, much like they'd done when she had awoken there the first time. She held her head high, her back straight, and walked between the masses as if in a dream. This time she exited the gate, where a small legion of templars stood lined up in anticipation. The others were there too; Cassandra, Leliana, Solas, and Cullen, seated on top of their mounts, while Josephine stood next to Mother Giselle among the Inquisition's followers.

Varric came towards her from the stables, reins of his pony in one hand and those of her warhorse in the other. He paused a moment before handing them to her, seemingly about to speak. His mouth opened slightly, before closing again. In the end he managed little more than an audible sigh and a shake of his head.

"Thank you, friend," she said quietly as he handed her the reins. Her voice was restrained, her accent masked. It was all she could manage right now. She hoped he didn't doubt the sentiment.

"Ah, just go close that thing already," he said gruffly, scratching the back of his head. "So you can change out of that and we can get drunk."

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for the faint flush of colour to rush to his cheeks. He made a face at her and turned to climb his pony, muttering to himself.

Dennet gave her a boost onto her own horse and she took up the reins. The great bay shuffled under her, unnerved by the unusual circumstances, but quieted as she put her hand on his neck. She turned him in a circle, passing the people who were now blocking the way back into the village and the templars, who slammed their fists into their chests in salute. Then she joined the others, each of their expressions a different mix of solemn concern.

The sounds of prayers behind them gradually faded, while several dozen sets of heavily armoured footsteps echoed heavily against the mountain. They followed the path through the valley, crossing the bridges and eventually turning onto the winding trail that led up the mountain. It was a far shorter distance than she remembered it to be, though it still took them a good half an hour. The sun had truly gone by the time they reached the temple, allowing the green glow of the chasm above their heads to overtake the scenery.

They left their horses outside the ruin and continued to make their way inside. The templars followed Cullen's and Cassandra's commands as they reached the inner chamber, swiftly lining up along the walls in perfect formation. Elsa followed Solas down, until they halted in the very spot the Pride Demon had materialised from the last time she'd been there.

"Are you ready, Herald?"

The elf didn't look at her, but kept his gaze focused on the Breach. She followed his example, squinting momentarily against the brightness, before she forced herself to look straight at it.

"Yes."

"… You sound certain."

"This is my purpose now, isn't it?" she mumbled. "If I can't be certain of that, what else is there?"

He considered her a moment, but did not speak. Cassandra appeared beside them, her face flushed and sharp brows drawn into a tense frown.

"The templars are in position," she stated. "Are you ready?"

Elsa drew a long breath, then nodded.

"Just like with the other rifts," Solas told her. "Wait until you feel the templars' power assert itself."

They both turned away, leaving Elsa alone underneath the swirling torrent. She looked behind her, letting her eyes drift over the armoured men and women, their skins aglow with lyrium. She could see Varric's shape behind them, though she couldn't make out his features in the dark. Leliana stood perched like one of her ravens some distance away from him, overlooking the scene below. Solas' voice rang through the crater as Cassandra pulled her sword, triggering a chain reaction among the templars to do the same.

The last person she found in the crowd was Cullen. He stood with the templars, jaw set and hand clenched around the pommel of his weapon. His armour rose with his chest when their eyes met. He inclined his head to her, then unsheathed his sword and planted it in the ground as he knelt like the others had. She didn't know if he could still contribute, having been without lyrium for as long as he had, but the fact that he was willing to try said enough.

She turned back towards the Breach, the mark on her hand prickling her nerves. The dispelling waves of the templars began to flow, rolling across the ground and pressing down on her like a blanket. She struggled against the draining sensation, inhaling deeply against the thick air to suck in what little oxygen remained. With all her might she fought to keep her focus on the Breach, which groaned and stirred above her. The torrent stilled, the edges quivered, and, slowly, the hole in the sky began to shrink.

Her hand shot up, causing lightning to strike from her palm and rapidly connect to its target. For a moment she couldn't see, her sight blinded by the combination of green flashes and holy light. Her veins were on fire, her insides ice from the templars' smite. She grabbed on to her shaking arm, her heart racing and her knees buckling, and then, just as quickly as it had begun… everything stopped.

She sat on the ground, her ears ringing so loud she did not hear the silence that had fallen over the ruin. One person began to clap, then another, and within seconds everyone was applauding, yelling, and cheering. Footsteps came closer, hands touched her shoulders, and pulled her up by her arms. Her chest was nearly crushed by a breast plate as she got pulled into a strangling hug; congratulations were spoken in a gentle voice; a broad hand with short fingers briefly took hers, and squeezed.

More cheers and applause sounded upon their return and a party broke out in the grounds without delay. Casks were busted open, mugs were filled, and music drifted through the air. Elsa watched drinks flow and being spilled, nobles giggling with reddened faces, templars toasting with sisters, and Sera dancing wildly atop a table. Beyond all that, the sky was black, and stars were visible for the first time since the Conclave.

_I guess we did it._

Her senses slowly returned, awakening to the scene surrounding her. The smell of roasted pork and beer. The conflicting tones of a lute on one side of the village and a flute on the other. The cool breeze that made her cheeks flush and stirred the hairs of the fur lining her shoulders. There was laughter, song, and hope all around.

She drew a deep breath, and sighed.

_Now what?_


	15. All Cats are Grey at Night

The Inquisition's banner fluttered triumphantly in the breeze. The emblem was no longer tinted green, but a bright gold in the light of the many campfires. Elsa watched it dance against the night sky, sparkling like a jewel.

Someone knocked against her elbow, spilling the drink she was holding. It missed her dress, but she put the mug down to prevent further accidents. She had no appetite for the beverage anyway. It was the opposite of Varric, who had not let a moment go to waste to put his plan of getting drunk into action. He was several pints ahead of some of the other people around, which was still many more than she'd had. He told story after story, though it became increasingly hard to follow the plot in some of them. It was all to great delight of the crowd surrounding him. Although Elsa laughed along with them as well, she had never felt so distant from the people around her.

She waited until he was immersed in another tale, acting out an old Chantry Mother walking in on a templar in a compromising position, when she sneaked away. Though she had been held up by people wishing to talk to her constantly at the start of the evening, everyone now seemed too engrossed in the party to care much for the Herald. When she made for her cabin, however, she found it overrun with people who had decided to take the party there instead. She turned around with a sigh, dodged some nobles swaying unsteadily on their feet, and made for the Chantry instead.

Though the shadows surrounding the building provided cover for more lascivious party activities, the interior had retained its sanctity. The atmosphere drowned out the noise the moment she stepped inside, cutting her off from the rest of the world. It was not unique to this particular Chantry. Whether a grand cathedral or a simple village parish, it was this atmosphere that made people pause as they entered and not dare to raise their voice above a whisper. But while this Chantry, with its thick walls and heavy doors, had a natural aura of solitude, tonight even it did not feel as secure as it had at other times.

She slowly made her way forward, touching each of the pews ever so slightly in passing. Each footstep echoed softly against the stone; the smooth wood was cold under her fingertips. She knew this place so well by now, setting it up and breaking it down at each prayer session. Her finger traced a mark someone had made once upon a time, carving a loved one's name into the backrest of the seat before them. Here, there was a tile missing, hastily covered up. Over there, the pillow with a burn mark from an unattended candle. Without the need for a light, she turned past the middle-most pew and found Andraste standing in her alcove. Elsa looked at her face, seeing her features despite the shadows concealing them. She knelt down in front, automatically straightening out her long coat, until she suddenly froze mid-motion.

_What does it matter if it wrinkles?_

It didn't. She just closed the hole in the sky, saved the world…. She could mess up every garment in Haven and no-one could say a word about it. But she couldn't bring herself to leave it the way it was, nor could she make herself finish what she'd started. So she just stared at her hands holding the fabric, suddenly feeling the overwhelming urge to scream.

"Elsa?"

His voice was cautious, questioning. He wasn't sure she was here and if she stayed quiet, he'd probably leave. Just like she didn't know what she wanted to do about her coat, she didn't know if she wanted him to find her. But when a faint rustle told her he was turning away, her voice called out his name on its own.

His footsteps rang louder than hers had, their muffled thuds accompanied by a metallic ringing of the armour on his knees. A silhouette came into view in the middle of the hall, turned, and carefully closed in on where she was sitting.

"There you are… I've been looking for you."

His foot accidentally hit her knee as he moved to sit across from her.

"Maker, was that you?"

"Only a little."

"Sorry! I'm sorry, it's very dark."

"Don't worry about it, I'm —"

"Wait, where are you?"

She felt his hand move some distance from her face and reached out to touch it. It jumped a little when she did, but then he briefly grasped her fingers as he sat himself down.

"Do you… Is there a reason you're in the dark?"

"Not really… I'm afraid I haven't really mastered the art of making fire yet. Varric usually does it for us when we're on the road."

"I see. Do you mind if I…?"

She shook her head.

"… Elsa?"

"Oh! No, I don't. Go ahead."

"Ah, alright. One moment."

She could feel him moving around, searching for something on the floor around the statue. A few sparks danced to life from the flint and steel, until a sudden flame momentarily blinded her. Cullen carefully lit some of the candles in the alcove, before quickly extinguishing the match.

"There." His hand reached up to scratch the back of his neck, the candlelight gently illuminating the flush on his cheeks. "Sorry again. Are you alright?"

"I'm okay," she said quickly. "It didn't hurt."

"That's good." He smiled cautiously, his eyes staying on her face for a little while in between shortly darting off to the side. "I suppose it wouldn't, after what you just accomplished."

"Right."

She returned his smile for a moment, but felt hers quickly ebbing away. A long moment of silence hung between them until he spoke again.

"You, eh… did not want to join the party?"

"Ah, I was there, but I'm… not in the mood, I guess. What about you?"

"No… I'm not really the type for parties."

"There are no elderly ladies at this one."

"Ha. That's something to be grateful for, at least."

For a moment they laughed like they used to, except it didn't reach her like it had back then. If anything, realising just how far away that pleasant feeling was, left her more hollow than ever.

"Elsa… What's wrong?"

She breathed deeply, turning her gaze upwards. Andraste looked down upon them, her stone eyes void of emotion. At times Elsa had looked at her and seen sadness, anger, even joy. But now the Maker's bride was just that, an empty face carved from stone.

"What will happen now?"

"Now?" He frowned, considering. "We keep going. We need to find out more about this Elder One, and what he's plotting against the Empress. And now that we have more resources, we can still try to find your brother."

"Oh, Cullen… Do you honestly think that still matters now?"

"What? Of course it does! We can —"

"How many people disappear without a trace during a war? With the state the templars were in and the things we've found… Is it not a blessing if he's dead, considering what the alternative might be?"

Warped and disfigured, his bright blue eyes filled with red lightning… She shook her head, but the image would not be so easily erased from her mind.

"You can't lose faith," Cullen said softly. "It's a good thing he wasn't there. He may just be somewhere with another group of templars."

"Yeah… Maybe," she sighed. "It's not just that."

"What do you mean?"

"I just…"

He wouldn't understand. How could he? He had been so hopeful in their late-night conversations, going on about the role the Inquisition could play now that the Chantry had turned its back on the people. She looked at the Commander, still willing to sit so close to her despite her scheming. He was older than her, seven or eight years, perhaps… How was he still so naive?

"I don't even know if I care anymore," she finished.

As she'd anticipated, the words did not land. He looked sympathetic, of course, and reached over to touch her arm. His words sounded distant as she watched his lips move, the scar dancing lightly in the candlelight.

"I know it doesn't feel like it, but Therinfal was a victory. Today was a victory. Thedas will continue to look to us for help, even more so now."

"I know. I don't mean to say that I don't believe in the Inquisition. If anyone can restore order it would be you. I just don't —"

"Us. You are a part of the Inquisition as much as anyone here," he asserted. "If not more so."

"The mark was needed to close the Breach." She flexed her hand. The scar had stilled without the rift to aggravate it, but still glowed faintly in the dark. "With that threat gone, what do I add?"

"What do you mean?" He inched towards her, but stopped himself before he got too close. "Our people look to you. You give them hope. You are —"

"What?" she interrupted. "What am I, Cullen? Tell me if you know, because I sure don't!"

The faint echo of her words reverberated inside the stone hall. She didn't mean to raise her voice, but she no longer bothered to mask her frustration. This strange clarity that had settled in since Envy, had taken away her ability to feel. It made Cullen's attempts to cheer her up almost offensive. Rather than showing her the bright side of the situation, it felt like a healthy man telling an invalid to walk.

They were all so small. Whatever her brother had been thinking when he left home, whatever he'd hoped to be a part of, it couldn't have been what they found at Therinfal. Perhaps he had evaded that fate, but another would be waiting for him around the corner. She had gone to find him, only to end up here — hand scarred, mind violated, secrets exposed. Everything she thought she would be, all the work in hiding her past so she could have a future… It was all for nothing.

"Tell me," she repeated. "What is the bloody point?"

She stared hard at the Commander, challenging him to prove her wrong. He would come with more arguments, more empty comments. Darkest before the dawn, give it some time, a good night's sleep… Part of her wanted to be convinced, but much more dominant was a sudden urge to fight. Whatever reason he could think of, she was ready to demolish it.

Seconds passed, stretching into minutes. For the longest time, Cullen didn't speak. She waited, ready for the argument that never came. Instead he sighed, breastplate rising and falling gently, and looked down. The leather of his gloves was smooth on her skin when he leaned in and took her hands in his.

"Do you think I don't understand?" he asked softly. "Do you think I did not ask myself that question when Kirkwall lay around me in ruins? When I left Ferelden?"

Tiny flames danced in his eyes, illuminating the pain behind them. She stared at them, the angry creature in her chest slowly shrinking back. He hadn't wanted to talk about it, and she hadn't asked. It hadn't been pertinent to her gaining his favour, hadn't been a topic worth broaching if it could lead to awkwardness. She had been curious for a moment, then forgotten about it.

"I don't know what's in store for you," he continued. "But you have proven yourself to be more than what you were supposed to be. You have helped so many people. Even if your role will change now, you can have a purpose. I… I can help you find it."

One of his hands reached up, the back of his fingers gently brushing her cheek. A dull ache slowly began to pulse in her chest. It wasn't naivety… Innocence perhaps, or maybe just a certain kind of optimism. Whatever the explanation, and whether it was something in his nature or his upbringing, the simple truth was that he had something that she sorely lacked. He wanted to do good, to leave the world in a better place than where he'd found it.

Unlike her… the Commander was a good person.

"The incapable mage will stand against the Elder One?" she scoffed weakly. "Andraste has a sense of humour."

He smiled, sending a shiver down her spine.

"I don't know how she factors into this," he whispered. "But you are so much more than that."

There was an intensity in his eyes she'd seen once before, making them impossible to look away from. They burned into hers, while his smell clouded her thoughts. He was so close she could taste him. She didn't deserve him, but longing for his touch was the first discernible feeling she'd had in what felt like an eternity.

"Cullen…" she breathed. "You shouldn't—"

His lips moved, but she couldn't hear the words. All she heard was her heart jolting back to life as his mouth brushed against hers, pounding against her ribs with such force she thought they might break.

"M'lady Herald!"

Cullen pulled back with a start. In the entrance, several silhouettes stood framed against the moonlight. They stumbled inside, getting lost within the shadows.

"Could've zworn I zaw her come in here," slurred one voice.

Just like that, the spell that had hung over the Chantry was broken, as the air went stale with the smell of beer penetrating the hall. One of the figures knocked against a bench, loudly scraping over the stone, and followed it with a string of curse words. Another voice laughed loudly — much too loud — and they continued to make their way forwards, slowly inching in on their location.

Cullen moved swiftly, taking her hand as he blew out the candles. His shape, once again covered in darkness, leaned in closer. Her heart jumped when his voice spoke next to her ear.

"Follow me."

He pulled her behind one of the pillars, her hand tightly in his own. She held onto his arm, unwilling to let the moment between them dissipate again. Although he continued to look around the pillar, focusing on their escape, she felt him pulling her closer against him in response. Another ruckus told them someone had walked into a candlestick. The metal clattered on the tiles, followed by more curses and laughter. No one heard their footsteps as they made a dash for the exit and left the Chantry, now little more than just another building with sturdy walls.

The party was still in full swing. Cullen walked with determination, weaving his way through the village to avoid groups inclined to stop them. He paused abruptly on the crossing leading towards her cabin, however, staring at the scene that had kept her from going there earlier.

"What do they think they're doing?" he said angrily. "I'll tell them —"

He stopped when she didn't move with him, and turned around.

"That's your cabin."

"I know, but… I don't want to deal with it now. And they might just come knocking later. Can't we… can't we go somewhere else?"

He cast one more angry glance at the group, before looking around, searching. After a few moments he settled on the gate and pulled her forward.

"Over here."

They exited the village, finding the grounds outside to be almost deserted in comparison. There was light in some of the tents and a few people sat by different campfires. No one paid much attention to the two figures making their way through. Cullen held open a large tent next to the forest border for her, then followed her inside.

Her eyes took a while to get used to the darkness. The grounds outside had been lit by the fires and the moon, but all that was filtered by the canvas. Elsa blinked a few times, slowly seeing the shapes of Cullen's quarters coming into view. His desk, adorned with a single candle stump and overflowing with reports. His armour stand in the corner, now empty, with his sword carefully stored away beside it. The large storage chest with a templar crest, probably one he'd brought with him from Kirkwall. And of course the cot, neatly made, that she had sat on when she told him about Myca. Everything seemed different now than it had back then. She'd been so involved with her own concerns that she hadn't registered it much. Perhaps she'd even dismissed the tent as being worthy of any attention at all. Standing in the dark as Cullen quickly moved forward to feverishly organise the mess on the tabletop, she realised how much of him was in this space, and how significant it was that he would let her in.

"You… can take the bed, if you're tired," he said, not looking up from the papers. "I'll do some work, or… We probably shouldn't make a light, they might— I can do something else, it's fine. In a few hours things will quiet down and you can go back —"

"Cullen."

"… Forgive me," he sighed. "Before, I… You are going through a lot. I didn't mean to take advantage."

"You didn't." She stepped forward. "I want —"

"What?"

His voice had turned low, with a resonance she'd never heard before. He followed her example now, moving closer, his high-shouldered silhouette looming over her in the dark. Strong hands gently took hold of her sides and pulled her closer, pressing her against his armoured frame.

She still wasn't sure of anything; not of who she was or who she was supposed to be now. Everything that Envy had ripped open remained raw and volatile, unwilling to be soothed into submission. Although the numbness had helped her to cope, feeling nothing was tiresome in its own right. The only thing that was certain was the man standing before her and his ability to make all of that vanish, even if only for a moment.

"I want to be with you."

She thought she might burst when he kissed her again. One of his hands slid to the small of her back, while the other moved up and tangled itself within her hair. She froze for a moment, fearful of her emotions tearing themselves free, untamed and uncontrolled. But as he continued to caress her, firmly holding her against his chest with his arms wrapped around her, she slowly let go. This tent, with its thin canvas walls, could not measure against her cabin, let alone the stone defences of the Chantry. Yet it was here, with the cold wind blowing in through the gaps and swaying the shabby support beams, that she felt safe for the first time in months.

o - o - o

Cullen's chest rose under her cheek as she listened to the gentle beat of his heart. He was warm, much warmer than her, but he didn't seem to mind. He nuzzled her hair, breathing in deeply. She felt him smile as he pulled her closer against him.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"… Yeah."

"I just… Are you sure? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, not after… the first bit. Did I — I didn't hurt you either?"

"No," he laughed, shaking her lightly in his arms. "How would you have?"

"I — I don't usually let my guard down like this. Because… you know."

"… Oh."

He held her a while longer, his fingertips gently stroking the top of her head. Then his arms tightened around her and he rolled them over, positioning himself on top instead. He kissed her, his hands trailing over her body. She curved against him in response, unable to restrain the moan rising from her chest.

"Don't ever feel like you can't let your guard down around me," he said softly, his mouth moving against her lips. "You won't hurt me… I promise."

"I'm not sure that's your promise to make," she sighed.

"You can make it instead."

"Alright… I promise."

He leaned down to kiss her again, only to freeze a mere inch from her face. His expression suddenly tense, he looked up and stared towards the back of the tent.

"Cullen?"

"Something is wrong."

He was up in an instant, grabbing his breeches off the floor on his way to the exit. He'd barely pulled them on as he threw open the canvas and looked outside.

Footsteps ran past the tent, while frightened screams sounded in the distance. A moment later the bells began to ring, piercing through the night and killing any lingering noises of the party.

Elsa sat upright, holding the blanket to her chest, and watched Cullen's expression go from concern to shock. He turned back a moment later, pausing briefly as their eyes met.

"Get dressed. We're under attack."


	16. Confusion Worse Confounded

His armour lay scattered across the ground; perhaps the first time in his life not properly put away where it belonged and where it allowed for the most efficient way to put it back on. Cullen quickly fastened his belt, straightened out his shirt, and bent down to grab his bracer off the floor.

He briefly glanced towards the other side of his tent. Elsa's face was shrouded behind her hair as she too hurriedly searched for her clothing. Her hands moved quickly to tie the laces on her bodice, the ones he had undone less than an hour ago, covering up her milky white skin. He shook his head, continuing to search for his other bracer as he lifted up his breastplate and strapped it on.

From what he'd seen the force was massive; wave after wave of torches spilling over the mountain. They'd come from the direction of Ferelden, but he'd seen no other identifying features.

The bulk of the templar forces was still on their way to Haven, days away at best. They had several dozen veterans, a few more soldiers… If only he hadn't sent those squads out for further supply gathering. At the rate their assailants were moving, they had fifteen minutes, twenty at most. He'd walked that distance himself and taken longer, but whomever it was closing in on their location moved with a speed that wasn't natural.

Their chances, what were their chances? They didn't have the numbers, not by a long shot, and what they had needed to be slapped out of a drunken stupor. There were children, Chantry sisters, workers…

_Where is my bracer?!_

"Cullen."

Her eyes were fearful, emphasised by the dark make-up still lining them. In her trembling hands was the last piece of his armour, a long, blackened gash running across it. He took it, letting his hand linger on hers for a moment. She swallowed visibly, then nodded as she let go and folded her hands in front of her. The silence between them could not have lasted longer than a moment, yet it seemed to stretch on forever. He didn't have time to waste, couldn't afford the distraction… but how could he leave her now?

"What can I do?"

Her mask was far from what it had once been, but a hardened glint had appeared in each pupil. Her jaw was sharp, her chin forward. Her fear had not gone, but her determination shone through even stronger. Not even when she had triumphed over the Breach had his admiration for her been as great as it was right now.

"Take care of the people. Spread the word for everyone to get inside the Chantry, it's the safest place."

Another long moment of stillness, in which a silent understanding passed between them. Then they turned, Cullen first with Elsa following suit, and exited the tent.

The camp was utter chaos, with men and women scrambling to find their weapons and armour. Even those who were dressed and alert seemed to have forgotten their training completely. Cullen scanned the scene, taking inventory of their supplies, the state of his soldiers, and the rapidly shrinking distance between them and the approaching army.

The others were already at the gate, though only Leliana lifted an eyebrow at their approach. Everyone else was too busy to notice; Josephine's expression was one close to terror as she stared into the distance, while Cassandra was somewhere between concerned and livid. Cullen was briefly grateful for the fact that the Seeker was on their side. They conferred briefly, confirming their assessments of the situation, only to have their attention swiftly pulled back towards the mountain path.

A small squad was approaching fast on horseback, chasing a lone rider out in front. Mana surged, swirling from the tips of a staff that flashed in the dark. Bolts of lightning forked in great arcs, striking down the frontmost pursuers and sending their mounts crashing to the ground. The ones following narrowly dodged their fallen allies, the hooves of their horses thundering on the icy ground, and prepared their counter attacks. The first horse, a black steed shining with sweat, swerved to the side to avoid a bolt of fire. The spell struck the ground instead, breaking apart rock and ice. A hissing cloud of steam rose up, engulfing the riders. For a moment they were gone from view, until the black horse leapt out from the fog. It stumbled, caught itself, then tripped again, and sent its rider flying the remainder of the path towards them.

The man rolled through the dirt until he came to a sliding halt. He jumped up instantly, his staff flashing once more. Concentrated flashes of energy were launched with two quick jabs from the weapon. His remaining attackers, almost upon him and unable to dodge, collided with his spells at the height of their power. The horses cried out, their veins lighting up under their skin, and crushed their riders as they lost their footing and collapsed to the ground.

The man stood victorious, though he did not look it. He was covered in scrapes and leaning heavily on his staff to keep his knees from buckling.

"A little help," he said, glancing in their direction, "would be much appreciated."

Cullen caught him just in time before his legs gave way. The mage rested on him with his full weight, but quickly scrambled to regain his footing.

"Who are you?" Cassandra demanded, pushing forward.

"That is not really the most important thing right now." The lightheartedness of his tone was only slightly undermined by the blood now seeping through the cloth covering his ribs. "I've come to warn you. Fashionably late, of course."

He turned around, motioning with his staff into the distance. They all followed the gesture, and listened as he explained the identity of the woman standing there and the monstrous figure beside her. Cullen barely heard the rest of the conversation, nor Varric quietly cursing to himself in disbelief. An army of mages was approaching, rebels and Tevinter extremists, and whatever else the Elder One had recruited. They'd be attacking from a distance, possibly even from the opposite end of the lake. They could set the entire village on fire without ever even stepping into the range of their archers, let alone their soldiers. They needed to increase their reach, take them out before they could strike. The trebuchets were not accurate enough, did not cover a big enough distance. Unless…

"Cullen." Cassandra snapped him from his thoughts. "A plan?"

"We turn the trebuchets. Aim them towards the mountain and bury that army. It's the only chance."

The Seeker's eyes widened briefly, then she nodded. "I'll take the farthest one myself."

She was gone a moment later, barking at a group of soldiers to follow her, while Solas and Varric joined her without encouragement. Elsa appeared next to him and put her arm around the stranger's waist.

"I've got him," she said. "Go."

"Get everyone to safety," Cullen repeated, moving the man's weight onto her instead. "And… be careful."

"You too."

The pair began to move towards the gate, the first few steps slowly as the man searched for balance between her and his staff, but then gradually gaining speed. She was too busy to look back, and Cullen only allowed himself to watch her a brief moment longer. Then his attention shifted, and the Herald disappeared from his thoughts.

"You there!" he yelled at a group of recruits standing frozen in the middle of the training grounds, "Head to the first trebuchet, defend it at any cost! Templars, take position on the paths and defend the waterline! Keep the mages at bay! Everyone, remember your training! Do not let fear control you, work as a unit!"

One by one, the panic dissipated form his soldiers' faces as they followed his commands. He paced the camp, shouting instructions, and only barely getting his troops in formation for the first wave of attackers to reach them.

They were no mages, but bands of mercenaries and other assorted hirelings. They fought with a savagery that was unpredictable, but many of them were ill-equipped and disorganised. Their wall of veterans made short work of most of them, and Cullen could for the first time see the results of all the training he'd put his men through. Their workers had also joined their forces, carrying anything either sharp or heavy enough to make a decent weapon. They fended off the attackers with minimal injuries, and the first trebuchet launched its shot. It caused a minor avalanche in the distance, creating an obstruction for the forces still coming down the mountain, but did not have the effect he'd intended.

_Hurry up, Cassandra…_

The first volley of magic was devastating. The templars raised their shields as one, their aura nullifying much of the fire raining down upon the front lines, but unable to catch it all. A large meteor struck down on the stables, igniting a fire that quickly spread to the blacksmith next-door. It only barely missed Dennet as he pulled the last of the terrified horses towards the village. Another rock crashed into the outer wall, bounced once, then continued to roll into the village. Flames rose up moments later from the direction of the tavern. He prayed no one had taken refuge there.

With the second wave of attackers things only became worse. They were more unified, fighting in groups that tried to close in on lone templars and take them down first. Mages were among them as well, sending every element their way and picking off those that were not shielded by a protective barrier.

Giving orders became increasingly difficult. From what little of the battlefield he could see, his troops became more scattered, the squads thinner by the minute. In between fending off attackers, he yelled above the screaming to make himself understood to his runners. Smoke burned in his lungs and made his eyes water, as he saw them get cut down before they could relay the messages to his sergeants.

Brief respite came from a surge of healing energy and a green barrier that flashed over him. Madam de Fer stood atop the wall with the few mages that had joined them over time. The chaos below was more than the small number could manage, but they were clearly giving it their all in supporting those most in need. Another shot launched from the trebuchet that was in his field of view, once again causing a minor movement that washed away part of the invading army. He was beginning to fear the worst as he struck down another mercenary, until — at last — a boulder shot up from the other side of the hill and flew away from the field in a graceful arc.

A brief break in the assault, and everyone's attention shifting to the mountainside, caused a sudden hush to fall over the battlefield. They didn't hear the rock land, nor did they hear anything else for a long moment. Then, a soft rumble, no louder than a purring cat, began to form. It grew louder, from a whisper to a thundering roar, as the snow came rushing down like a tidal wave. The pinpricks of torchlight dimmed; the assailants that had been in closer range got knocked off their feet and were washed away.

He only allowed himself a moment to savour the victory, and took the opportunity to regroup. His troops flocked towards him and quickly took in their new directions, while Cassandra and her team came into view further down the southern path.

The sudden screech took them all by surprise, making most of them cover their ears in a reflex. A black form had appeared over the mountain, quickly coming towards them and taking shape. Leathery wings torn at the edges, scaly skin stretched across a skeletal frame, and fire building at the back of its throat.

_You have got to be joking…_

The first charge from the dragon's fire blew up the trebuchet, sending splinters in all directions. Its tail struck a tree as it swooped down and flew across, tearing it from the ground with roots and all.

"Inside the walls, now!" Cullen bellowed. "Get to the Chantry, all of you!"

The call echoed through the crowd as the message was passed on and everyone turned towards the gate. People pushed and pulled as too many of them tried to rush it at once, but eventually, with both him and Cassandra barking orders to get them back into formation, all made it inside the village.

He quickly spotted Rylen and relayed his instructions. The man frowned shortly, but then nodded in confirmation. He grabbed a soldier by his collar and dragged him back, causing several others to halt as well. Orders were given and the squad turned away, running for the last trebuchet rather than the Chantry.

Cullen and Cassandra waited for the last of the stragglers before they each grabbed one of the doors and pushed the gate shut.

"The avalanche didn't catch all of them," Cassandra breathed. The Seeker had pulled off her helmet, revealing a trickle of blood running down the side of her face. Her shield hung off her arm at an awkward angle, as if its weight was too much for her muscles.

"It worked as well as we could have hoped," said Cullen. "And we're not done yet. But that thing…"

He didn't need to say it out loud; they both knew what the appearance of the dragon meant. They were backed into a corner, with nothing but impassable mountain behind them. The walls of the village — or what was left of them — would only hold against the remaining ground troops for a limited time. Once they were through, they could still make a stand inside the Chantry. But then…

"We need to tell people," Cassandra said quietly, "To warn as many as possible."

Cullen nodded, but didn't speak. A muscle twitched in the Seeker's jaw. She raised her arm, crossing it in front of her torso, and held it there. He mirrored her movement, pressing his forearm against hers as she pushed back. A small gesture, nothing more than a simple sign of camaraderie among soldiers, but all that needed to be said. All that was left to say.

The Chantry was filled to the brim, the air stale with the smell of blood and sweat. The benches had been pushed to the side, making space for the crowd of people. Most of the Inquisition seemed to have made it here, though its triumph from a mere hour before had long vanished. The injured lay lined up along the wall with healers moving between them. Villagers clustered together in groups, their expressions tense and frightened. Soldiers sat and stood around, many nursing injuries of varying severity, others simply looking battered and scorched. Over the hushed murmurs, the whinnying of frightened horses pierced the subdued atmosphere. Cullen would have felt relieved at how many were alive, if not for his knowledge of what was awaiting them.

Chancellor Roderick sat close to the entrance, most grievously injured, and was being attended to by the mage that had recently arrived.

"How is he?" Cullen asked the stranger.

"Not too well," he replied. "I did what I could, but his injuries are… I'm afraid there's not much more to be done." He got up, wiping his bloodied hands on his trousers. Though his movements were still a little stiff, he seemed to have managed mending his own injuries well enough. "What is happening out there?"

More people gathered around — Varric, Barris, Vivienne, and the others of the Inquisition's leadership. They all looked to him, though only a few of them did not yet understand the reality of their situation.

"We are overrun," Cullen said, his voice low to not alarm the rest of the people. "This building will hold, but only for a limited time."

"That doesn't sound too good, Curly," Varric grumbled.

Cullen ignored him. "We will send ravens to our allies and to our troops stationed outside of Haven. We'll tell them what happened here and all we know about the Elder One's plans. What we can hope to do now, is do as much damage as possible."

"What do you suggest?" Vivienne asked.

Cullen's attention was drawn to Rylen's squad entering the Chantry. The man nodded their success to him, but gestured at the rest of his group. It wasn't hard to see that not as many of them had returned as had gone out; the enemy was closing in.

"The last trebuchet has been loaded and aimed towards the mountain. We can cause one more slide, and cover the rest of that army."

"It won't stop the dragon," said Leliana.

"It won't, but we can at least take as many of them down as we can."

"Excuse me," the mage interrupted, "but it sounds like I came all this way only to die buried underneath a layer of snow. I can't say it sounds very appealing."

"We have no other options," Cullen bit back.

Unlike the rest, the mage had made no attempt to keep his voice down. People were starting to look in their direction, while others seemed to stop what they were doing and instead focused on listening to their conversation.

"So your only idea is mass suicide? For a templar you sound an awful lot like a blood mage."

Josephine jumped with fright when Chancellor Roderick let out a harrowed, bloody cough. He tried to get up from his chair, only to immediately lose his balance. The mage caught him before he fell and ushered him back into the seat. It was there that he told them of a path, hidden behind the Chantry, and possibly their only chance of survival.

Cullen rejected the notion at first, having accepted their fate of going down fighting. As a templar he had learned not to fear death, had even welcomed the thought in his worst moments. He did not, however, welcome it now, and the new information quickly spurred his mind back into action. They could continue their plan; bury their attackers underneath the avalanche, while they made their escape through the mountains. They'd be moving slowly, meaning they would need a head start to not be caught in the wave themselves.

"Alright, new plan. Divide the people into groups. Each of you," he said, pointing at the people around him, "is a group leader. We need to move out of here efficiently, or it'll all fall apart."

He turned towards the mage, whose hands were glowing blue as he moved them over Roderick's abdomen.

"Can you support him, help him show us the way?"

"Done."

He finished the spell, then hoisted the Chancellor up and pulled his arm around his shoulders. They made their way through the crowd and to the back of the Chantry. A small explosion was heard a short time later, suggesting the mage had blasted through the back wall to give them an exit. The injured were placed on stretchers and more people began to move. Supplies were gathered, mothers bundled up their children, and soldiers grabbed their arms. Slowly, the Chantry hall began to empty, everyone filing though the war room and into the cold beyond.

Cassandra pushed her way out of the moving masses, and joined him at the entrance.

"We need to get above the tree line before the trebuchet can be launched," she stated.

Cullen had opened the front door and surveyed the village through the crack. Some troops were ransacking the camp, while efforts were being made to break down the gate. The dragon was, for the moment, nowhere to be seen.

"Agreed. Someone needs to stay behind to launch it and keep the enemy from interfering."

"Do I take it you are planning to take on this task yourself?"

Her expression was stern, as usual, but he could tell she wasn't going to stop him. As commander his duty was to the army and the Inquisition; part of that responsibility was to not put himself in a position that would likely result in death. But he could not ask someone else to make this particular sacrifice, and nor could the Seeker.

"You need backup," she said.

"I'll take some of the templars."

Several of them broke away from the crowd at his gesture. They lined up behind him, unquestioning even though they did not yet know their purpose. It was a testament to their training… it was also what had allowed their Order to be reduced to the state it was in. He shook the thought from his mind; there was no point in dwelling on it now.

He pulled the door open further, and looked to the back of the hall. The last of the people were crowding around the war room, and soon would exit the Chantry altogether.

"Good luck," Cassandra told him.

"Maker watch over you."

"Cullen?"

He turned back.

"Whatever you can to make it back. That's an order."

Before he could reply, Varric's voice cut across the hall. Cassandra turned at the sound of her nickname, her expression sharpening. Vivienne followed closely behind him as both made their way towards them.

"What is it, Varric?" the Seeker said angrily. "You are supposed to be —"

"Where is Sterling?"

Cullen's thoughts, focused on the task at hand, took a moment to catch up. Elsa had gone to the Chantry with the mage, had been spreading the message to everyone to get to the Chantry. He'd vaguely registered the presence of most of their people in the crowd, and had no reason to assume she wasn't somewhere in there making herself useful. She must have been with the people moving outside… surely.

"Josephine has been at the exit to do a headcount, she hasn't seen her pass," Lady Vivienne added. "We've been asking around; some have seen her, but no one can recall her being in the Chantry for the last half hour."

"She must have been," Cassandra replied, closing in on the other two with a single stride. "Where else would she be?"

"Last time I saw her, she was helping Minaeve," Varric said, wringing his hands. There was no trace of humour left in the dwarf's expression; it made him appear years older than his actual age. "I lost sight of her after. She was helping the villagers, maybe… maybe she went back out."

They all moved towards the door now, the tension between them one of nervous anxiety. A loud smash signalled the breaching of the gate, while more troops began to make their way into the village by scaling the wall. They had to leave soon, or they wouldn't be able to reach the trebuchet anymore. Cullen's eyes searched the village, scanning for silver hair, a white coat, or anything else that would make him spot Elsa in between the fire and smoke.

"There!"

Cassandra pointed in the distance, though for a moment Cullen couldn't tell at what. Something was moving beyond the mountain ridge, a dark shape larger than a house. The dragon's tail struck out behind it, cutting down the trees blocking it from view. It circled a lone figure slowly backing away from the tall creature approaching her, until it grabbed her arm and lifted her into the air.

"Templars!" Cullen called, unsheathing his sword, "With me!"

Cassandra grabbed his arm before he could do as much as step outside.

"What do you hope to accomplish against that thing?" she hissed.

"We have to do something!"

"Look!"

The Elder One had tossed the Herald aside, slamming her into the ground and making her roll through the snow. She slid to a halt and remained still as the dragon took position behind its master. Slowly, the two began to close in on her.

When she moved, it happened in an instant. She drew the bowstring back as she pushed herself to her knees, aiming an arrow at the dragon's head. The creature shrieked when it struck its eye, throwing its weight on its hind legs as it clawed at the wound. In the momentary confusion she aimed another shot, seemingly at nothing, and let it fly.

On the other side of the ridge, a boulder swung up from outside their field of view, rapidly heading towards the mountains. It struck the side of the cliff, where a small cloud of dust quickly turned into a rumbling wave coming towards them.

"Bolt the door!" Cullen called. "And get to the cellar!"

The windows shattered, letting snow and broken glass spill into the hall as they ran towards the stairs. The avalanche was deafening, making the building groan underneath its force. It lasted no longer than a few minutes, which they sat hunched low in the cells beneath the Chantry. A hushed silence settled in eventually, ominous in contrast to what had come before.

They climbed back up the stairs, finding the Chantry had remained intact, but with snow spilling in through the broken windows. Half of the hall was covered, and the night sky had been covered from view by a wall of white. A glowing sphere appeared at the end of Vivienne's staff, illuminating their surroundings. It hovered in front of them as they made their way to the back of the building, where she summoned more of her mana and began to burn a path through the compacted ice blocking their way.

Varric lingered at the door to the war room, looking back into the dark hall.

"Varric."

Cassandra reached out to him, but then seemed to change her mind. She retracted her hand and simply stood behind him, holding her injured shield arm by the elbow instead. The dwarf lingered a moment longer, but then turned to follow the others who had already gone outside. Shimmering streaks lined his face, briefly illuminated by the eerie shine filtering through the icy tunnel. Cullen pretended not to see them, as he knew the others would do for him soon enough.


	17. Of Necessity

_Am I dead?_

A sharp sting began to throb in her head, as if rallying against the idea. It intensified within seconds, sending blood coursing through her veins that pounded on her eardrums.

She gasped as the feeling surged back into her arms and legs. Her palms were burning, as if a thousand needles were sticking into her skin. Her arms and legs lay at awkward angles, resisting her attempts to straighten them out.

When she opened her eyes, it made barely a difference. Faint light filtered in from above, muted streaks of the moon that had almost lost their brilliance by the time they reached her under the thick layer of compacted snow. Her head was angled to the side, giving only view of her hand lying some distance from her face. The mark pulsed faintly, casting a soft greenish glow unto the cold stone beneath.

Her body began to tremble, mild shivers at first that rapidly evolved into violent spasms. Her face scraped against the rocky surface; the scar was a blur on her trembling hand.

_I have to get up._

Her fingers were immobile, dragging across the ground as she forced her arm muscles into motion. Her core shook when she tried to push herself up, only for her arms to give way shortly after. She lay still for a moment, catching her breath before trying to lift her head. The rushing of blood intensified, making spots cloud her vision as she looked around.

She was in a cavern of sorts, with a dark passage stretching out in front of her. The floor and walls were frozen rock, here and there supported by old and failing support beams. She would have speculated on its existence, who had created it, or what its function was once upon a time, if not for the fact that she couldn't hear herself think over the sound of her teeth hammering against each other inside her mouth.

Her second attempt at getting herself up was more successful, though the muscles in her neck and shoulders protested loudly under the strain. She sat on the floor of the cavern and wrapped her arms around herself. It was an intuitive gesture rather than an effective one; what little warmth was left inside her quickly continued to drain away.

Her knees cracked as she pulled her legs closer, while her cramped muscles continued to resist as she pushed herself off the ground. Eventually she managed to stand, swaying on her deadened limbs, and began to take tentative steps into the dark corridor. Her temperature rose under the effort, making sweat pearl under her clothes and drip down her spine. Inch by inch, she made her way through, slipping on the icy patches, and all the while clutching her shivering body with both arms.

_How did I get here?_

She leaned against one of the beams, gasping, and tried to remember.

A tall creature, his body seemingly fused together with his tattered, armoured robe. His breath had burned on her face… His magic had stirred up her own, like the Breach had done before it, and had made her gut swirl uncomfortably as she fought it back down.

A mistake, he'd called her. An unintentional disruption to a ritual years in the planning. Her search for Myca had led her to the wrong place, at the wrong time; nothing more. Though she'd always doubted Andraste's supposed hand in her survival, it had still been surprising to hear she was really just that: an accident. Perhaps she'd been playing the role long enough to begin to convince herself.

A faint breeze brushed through the corridor, stirring the bloodied strands of hair hanging down her face. She squinted against the darkness, staring in the direction it had come from. For a moment she thought she'd imagined it, until it started up again; a draft, bitingly cold, but the signal of an exit. With effort she dragged her weight back to her feet, and resumed her walk.

_"This Elder one came here with one goal in mind. He wants you, Herald."_

The Tevinter mage — she couldn't recall his name — had told her more about Redcliffe while she had escorted him to the Chantry. The mages, backed into a corner and desperate, even more so when they heard of the Inquisition marching on Therinfal and seemingly declaring support for the Order. The arrival of the magisters, and the deal they had struck with the rebels in return for their protection. The Elder One, corrupting those same mages further with the help of red lyrium, and turning them on Haven.

_"Why does he want me?"_

_"I do not know. All I know is that these people were told to hunt you down, no matter the costs… on either side."_

They'd reached the Chantry when the first sounds of fighting emerged from beyond the wall. The man transferred his weight to his staff, relieving her of his burden.

_"I'll be fine. While I would like to keep you all to myself, I'm sure you have other business to attend."_

She'd left him there, nursing his own injuries, and helped those trying to bring themselves and their belongings into the Chantry. It had been chaos… absolute chaos. People slipped on the ground, making others trip over them or trample right across. Flaming boulders came out of nowhere, crashing through thatch roofs and exploding on impact. She only barely managed to help a sister trapped under a damaged cart, before another charge exploded the cabin right beside them. The tavern burned, blackened support beams crumbling like sand and collapsing before her eyes. Screams came from inside, then were drowned out by the roaring flames.

It had only become worse once the enemy started slipping through the defences and made their way over the wall. Some of their workers jumped forward in defence of the weaker, while she readied her weapon. Although none of her arrows had failed, it hadn't prevented their people from being cut down before her, their blood spraying crimson across the snow.

She slipped on a loose rock and slid down some frozen steps of roughly cut stone. Her elbow sharply hit the ground, sending a jolt of electricity through her arm and frozen fingers. Tears sprung in her eyes, only to freeze halfway down her cheeks into shiny drops of ice.

_All of this… Because of me._

Her eyes fell on the hem of her coat, where tendrils of scarlet spread up through the white cloth. Visions of the Chantry surfaced before her from the dark; blood staining the stone floors, like spiderwebs of red running through the grooves between the tiles. Men, women, and children, almost indistinguishable from each other under the bruises and layers of grime, looked up as she passed them by. Their hands had reached out to her, faces hungry for reassurance. She'd fought the urge to back away, but her stomach turned with every prayer and each comforting gesture. The heaviness pressing on her chest gradually worsened, making the musty air even harder to breath, until eventually she couldn't take any more. She got up, avoiding the hopeful eyes following her motions, and pushed her way back out of the masses. Her vision swimming and her head spinning, she ran. Ran from the stench of blood and decay, from the Chantry and its Faith, from those faces who didn't know who was to blame for their suffering. She ran in between the crumbling buildings and the raging fire, until she slipped to a halt and threw up in the bushes.

Memories were fuzzy after that, not helped by the slowing down of her brain. She pushed herself back up, stirred on by the draft as it resurfaced again, stronger this time, and continued to walk on instinct more than conscious thought.

Footsteps running by… someone mentioning Cullen's name and the last trebuchet… a blast from above that threw her further down the hill. Darkness… shapes… and something dragging her through the snow until the sharp pain in the mark had snapped her back to consciousness.

The wind whipped her face when she finally exited the tunnel, and stepped out into the open air.

_"I have come for the anchor."_

The actual reason for Haven's destruction was the only distinct sensation she still had in her body; everything else had blended into the same burning, itching feeling of thorns scratching her skin. The snow before her was ankle deep, forcing her to lift her feet higher not to trip. Every step was a struggle, with her muscles deciding they were more happy remaining flexed rather than straightening out again. Very slowly she began to make her way up the hill, up being the only plausible direction she could think of, and tried to keep her mind busy in recalling what else had happened.

_Corypheus was its name… something about a city. A plan to assault the heavens._

The wind tore on her dress, dragging her sideways until her body slammed into a tree. Her feet scrambled to regain her balance and she stepped forward once again, only for another freezing gust to pull her in another direction like a puppet on a string.

_Pretender… Funny. Flinging rifts… an empty chair?_

The winds became worse without the cover of the trees and the snow gradually thickened. She was in knee-deep now, pushing her way through rather than trying to step over it.

_I shot the thing…_

_Trebuchet._

_… Cullen likes trebuchets._

Whether she tripped or her legs simply decided they'd done enough, she couldn't tell. She sat in the snow, shivering from head to toe.

_"I didn't hurt you, did I?"_

She brought her hands together, fumbling with the stiffness of her digits. One of them became Cullen's, tensing rhythmically as he pushed against her. He'd been everywhere; his smell, his taste, his touch… Were all men as warm as he had been?

_Warm… I have to stay warm._

The wind continued to howl, pushing the snow further up against her side. There was nothing around; no shelter, no cover, no people. She was alone.

_You have to do it._

_I can't._

_If you don't, you'll die._

_I don't know how._

_You've done it before…_

_You can do it again._

Her hands were her own again, locked together in a frozen embrace. She pulled them apart with some difficulty, and observed the dirty glove on her right. It took several attempts to bring it to her mouth and catch the fabric between her teeth. Inch by inch she dragged the cloth off of her numb fingers. Both her hands exposed, she held them in front… and waited.

Vivienne and Solas had spoken of focusing their mana to a single point, of creating a controlled opening in the Veil and forming the energy to their will.

_What does that even mean?_

Her magic was somewhere inside, numbed and slow like the rest of her, but not quite gone. It tingled in her belly, anxious like a caged animal observing its handler coming closer with the key. It got to its feet, stretched, and paced the length of its confinement with increasing anticipation.

Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps a distant memory. Or perhaps it was simply her body giving up the last of its restraint. She turned the key and unlocked the cage. The animal waited for a moment, poised, then broke free.

Fire erupted from her palms, hot and blinding. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head, holding her hands as far from her as she could. The heat flooded her body, making sweat break out on her forehead and neck. The snow around her melted away, further soaking her clothes.

With effort, she opened one eye and looked at her creation; a bright ball of swirling flames floating in midair. She opened the other eye as well, feeling rushing back as she stared at it, hypnotised. For a short moment she simply sat there, the ball in harmonious suspension above her palms.

Sparks sputtered from the centre, making sizzling dents where they landed in the snow. A swirl spun further than the others and nearly lashed her face. The flames continued to warp, rapidly losing cohesion before her. The fleeting moment of peace made way for panic as the fire grew, morphing into something with eyes and faces and hands trying to grab her. A girl's scream echoed across the mountain; her sister's… her own.

Then it was gone, snuffed out like a candle. A dispelling aura washed over her, roughly stuffing the animal back in its cage, and she collapsed to her side. Footsteps approached. Swords were pointed, people shouted. A man argued, a woman argued back.

Gloved hands touched her face as they draped a heavy, fur cloak around her. A glimpse of blond hair, matted with dried blood and ash, before he cradled her against his chest and lifted her up.

The voices continued to argue all the way, even until after she was lowered onto something soft and out of reach from the wind. She instinctively reached for him when he moved away, grabbing on to his armoured forearm. The sharp smell of some herbal concoction pierced her nose, clouding her already hazy mind. She faded away, her fingers dragging across the damaged templar insignia before her hand dropped to her side.


	18. Two Steps Forward

She lay on her back, eyes closed, silently listening to the voices on the other side of the canvas. They had been discussing her — the mage, as some now called her — for some time. It had only been a couple of people, maybe six or seven different voices, engaging the Inquisition's leadership in heated discussion. Templars, she gathered, and perhaps some others. They'd been shocked, angry… fearful. It was hard to interpret exactly, but nothing of it was positive.

It had died down eventually, fatigue from the night undoubtedly catching up with everyone. Perhaps that might work in her favour… A new discussion had started up soon after, out of reach and too soft for her to hear the words. Josephine sounded close to tears, while Cassandra seemed ready to punch the first person who gave her a good enough reason. Leliana was menacingly quiet, only speaking on occasion and after careful thought. Cullen laced his remarks with frustrated sarcasm. They weren't going to get anywhere. She didn't need to hear what they said to know that, the tone of their voices was enough.

She'd been able to help in their discussions in the war room. Whether to approach mages or templars had been far from the only issue they couldn't decide on. Especially at times when the stress of their work had been getting to them, they ended up arguing in circles more than anything. At those times, she had listened quietly to the escalating conversation, figuring out why each of them felt the way they did. She would then wait for the right moment to make herself heard, outline the issue from her outside perspective, and guide them to a compromise that worked well enough for everyone.

But they weren't in the war room now. Nor were their decisions about how to handle Lord So-and-So's request, or whether to send spies or soldiers to investigate some caves. Their next decision was about life and death. While a combination of an unhappy accident and a ridiculous amount of luck had made her something of a connoisseur on the topic, she didn't delude herself that suggesting a middle-ground was going to be successful here. Not to mention, she wasn't the person that people would be listening to right now.

Could she leave? She glanced at the entrance through her lashes, careful not to notify anyone she was awake. There was no one in the tent with her and seemingly no one standing guard at the entrance. Based on the amount of light filtering through the canvas, she had been placed on the edge of the camp. She could duck out the back and be gone by the time anyone would notice.

And then what? Lying here now, covered under layers of fur, her body felt remarkably ordinary considering what it had gone through. Freezing to death hadn't been what she imagined. She had pictured it as a slow, peaceful sensation, like falling asleep. It had been slow, but far from peaceful; most definitely not painless. She only remembered faintly what had happened and wasn't sure how she had managed to climb her way far enough up the mountain for the others to find her. It was not an inviting thought to go back out there alone, without supplies or a horse, and with nowhere to go. In fact, it sounded like the most stupid thing she could do. Yet somehow it was more appealing than the alternative. Because what she did remember was the flaming ball of fire and how she hadn't been able to contain it.

How could she remedy this? Varric had been unfazed, the others concerned in different ways, but it had been okay. Even Cullen had managed to get over it. Among the Inquisition's people… there would be dissenters, it was inevitable, but even in the worst case scenario she couldn't imagine they'd all turn on her. No, her biggest problem were undoubtedly the templars. In hindsight, perhaps she'd made a terrible miscalculation in that decision…

It had gone quiet outside. She pushed herself up and lowered her legs to the floor. There had been plenty of damage to her body, she now saw, evident by the bruises lining her arms and legs. They didn't hurt much, but she guessed they were the leftovers of more serious injuries rather than simple bumps. Clothes had been laid out at the foot of the bed. She picked them up, glad to get out of the dirtied ceremonial garb, and quickly changed into the more practical outfit.

She'd only just pulled the undershirt over her head when someone entered her tent. Solas respectfully averted his eyes, but did not turn to leave as someone else might've done. Instead he waited quietly for her to finish, his gaze fixed off to the side, and turned back to face her only when she was pulling on a pair of boots.

"Herald. I am pleased to see you still live… again."

"Heh…" She pushed her hair back, raking out a tangle with her fingers. The elf was looking at her rather intently now, and once again proved himself impossible to read. "It is getting a bit silly, isn't it?"

"Silly is not the word they have been using out there." He nodded in the general direction of where the voices had come from before. "Divine intervention seems to be a more common description."

She sighed as she fastened her belt. It was true, from what she'd heard. It had been the main counterargument to those who spoke ill of her. They spoke of her heroism in starting the avalanche and her miraculous return. Some had thrown the term 'resurrection' around, which made her really uncomfortable. They were wrong, so very wrong…

Doubts that she had barely expressed, that she had not been able to put into words before, were now a certainty. It was pure luck and failure that brought her here. She'd run from the Chantry, no longer wanting or able to act like the perfect saint they believed her to be. It was coincidence that she'd overheard Rylen on his way to the trebuchet, as she stood hurling in the bushes. It was stupidity that then caused her to be captured and dragged off to Corypheus. Corypheus, whom she could only stare at in terror as he told her of the nature of the mark. Just because a stroke of instinct before death allowed her to execute Cullen's plan and a freakish amount of luck managed to get her out of there, didn't mean the creature had been wrong.

He'd assaulted the Heavens, seeing an empty throne. It had been so hazy on her way up, but everything the monster had told her now came rushing back. There was no Maker and Andraste had no interest in her survival. She had accidentally managed to hide from the explosion because she stumbled into a ritual… People's fears and hopes projected onto her had done the rest. Her chest rose with her breath, one long take and then another. It was a lot to take in, yet she found herself strangely at peace with the information. It was to be expected that even the respite of Cullen's company was only temporary. The world was fucked… Deep down, she'd known it for a long time. It was cathartic to be proven right.

Whatever Solas believed, it was not in the Chantry and its Faith. He'd expressed no particular emotion or sentiment to the status the people had elevated her to, but he must have brought it up for a reason. Perhaps he wanted to see her response, gauge her opinion. She looked him over, considering. It wasn't like she had anything left to lose.

She told him what had happened, her words speeding up over time as they came spilling out without reservations. The things the Tevinter mage had told her, her encounter with Corypheus, the orb he was holding, his plan to enter the Fade, his attempt to remove the anchor… She looked at her hand, with Solas following her example.

"It was an accident," she spat, breathing hard from how fast she'd been talking. "I just happened to walk into the room, nothing more. It… makes sense, doesn't it? If Andraste had picked someone, she surely could have done a better job."

Solas remained quiet. He turned his back towards her and lifted the flap of the tent to look out over the camp below. His darkened frame was outlined by the glow of distant fires, ears pivoted slightly back towards her.

"Better how?"

"I — I don't know. Someone who can fight… Someone experienced, someone…" She shook her head. "Someone who believes."

"And you do not?"

"Not… like I used to."

One of his ears twitched. For a while neither of them spoke, the words hanging heavily between them, until the tip of his staff lit up with blue flames. They danced against the inside of the canvas, casting the tent in an eerily beautiful glow. He turned around.

"What has been happening could cause anyone to reevaluate their beliefs." He didn't look at her, but focused on the fire before him. His fingers quietly manipulated it, drawing tendrils from the flames that dissipated upon release. "Indeed, I have had to reconsider quite a few times myself since I sat beside you, keeping the mark from killing you."

"You're not too happy with me, I'm sure."

"You could say that. Your selfish reasons led to an alliance with a group that has proven themselves brutal, corrupt, and self-righteous."

"They weren't always like that."

He paused, hand hovering above the flame. "We can have a long discussion about that, but this is neither the place nor the time. Given what I know about you, however, your position astonishes me."

"It's… complicated."

"It would, in fact, appear to be quite simple. You have been guided by the ignorant and made to believe things about yourself and the world without ever needing to question them. Now, however, that has changed." The elf angled his head and locked eyes with her. The flames danced in his irises, tiny blue sparks flitting across the surface. "I have decided to not yet settle on my opinion of you. I suggest you do the same."

She moved over to the entrance of the tent, letting his words sink in. The camp was quiet, the atmosphere subdued. She scanned the ground, taking note of how many had made it out and what they had managed to bring with them. Though it was more than could have been expected, it clearly was not enough. Only half of the people had blankets and, judging from the carts she saw, their food could not last them more than a week, even when rationed.

"I don't know how to talk myself out of this one."

The flame of his staff hovered between them. It was cold fire that caused only a minor disturbance to the Veil. Not at all like what she had managed to produce. It seemed to dampen as she looked straight at it, intensify as she looked away. There was something unsettling about the quiet flame, though she couldn't put her finger on why.

"Nothing has changed. You are the same as you were yesterday, except that now you have performed a miracle."

She let out a dry, humourless chuckle. "You'd do well at court."

"I do. Perhaps you'll have the chance to see it some day. Unfortunately my presence won't help much in this situation, but I have no doubt you can make it work."

"Thanks…" Most of the people were split in groups, huddling together to stay warm. She counted about twenty templars, less than what they'd started the battle with. Some were among the other people, others stuck to their own. "Whatever their concerns… we can't stay here."

"Indeed, although your leaders seem to be in dispute on that matter."

"I can manage them. We need to leave the mountains, find some of our allies. Since we closed the Breach it can't be too hard to find someone who will provide us with a place to regroup."

"That would be an option." The flame surged briefly. "But might I suggest an alternative?"

o - o - o

The camp went deadly silent once she emerged from the tent, with even the fires seemingly hushing their sparks. A few heads turned in her direction and increasingly more, as people nudged each other with elbows or shook one another awake. Elsa scanned each face, gauging their expressions. Fear in most, awe in others, hostility in a few… Exhaustion in all. Some people scrambled to their knees and dropped their heads in prayer as she passed by, while others simply gawked.

She walked down, her attention focused on the Inquisition's leadership scattered around the centre of the camp. They rose to their feet to meet her, but none of them spoke. Their expressions were equal parts indecision, anticipation and relief. They had argued on her behalf, although time would tell whether it was out of self-preservation or loyalty. One thing was certain, they couldn't solve the issue that her indiscretion had stirred up. She checked their status with them, confirming her concerns, then turned to face the people.

Most everyone had shuffled closer, rows upon rows of faces staring in her direction. Her eye fell on one of the templars, a man with black hair and a face scarred with burns. His eyes smouldered with poorly concealed disdain, his hand was firm on the pommel of his sword. Some of his comrades surrounded him, their expressions mirroring his in different amounts. She knew that look all too well, but was relieved to see it was only this small group that seemed so openly offended by the sight of her. It would be a problem, but a manageable one for the moment. Their numbers were too few and their bodies too tired to make much of an impact.

She rolled her shoulders back, her mind now working rapidly. They were hurt, hungry, tired, and fearful for their lives. People were acting on emotion, one of the most primal motivators. It was easy to appeal to, but not without risk.

"If you stay here," she said loudly, ignoring the templars' glares, "you will all die."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. People shifted nervously, glancing at each other. The cry of a child sounded from somewhere in the back, quickly muffled by a parent pulling it into the folds of their clothing. From her peripheral vision she could see the Inquisition's leadership eyeing each other with uncertainty, clearly wondering where she was going with this.

_That seems to have done something._

"Tonight was a tragedy," she continued, "but one that we will mourn in the right place and time. We know who our enemy is now and he will stop at nothing. I know, because I faced him."

She paused for effect, her chin lifted as she gazed at the faces, meeting each of the stares she was receiving. Mouths began to move in silent prayers, hands moving to make the accompanying gestures.

"Corypheus wants one thing and that is to destroy everything you hold dear. Several times now the Inquisition has thwarted his plans, but the fight does not end here. We need to survive. We need to leave this place and move forward!"

Anxious looks continued to be exchanged, but others called out to her from somewhere in the masses. There were disdainful huffs and hoots of support, but mostly there were questions — where, how? It was those she had attempted to lure out and she seized upon without hesitation.

_Outline the problem, make yourself the solution._

Deliberately, taking her time to give weight to each word, she told them of a place hidden away in the mountains. A place that had been lost to time, but was waiting for them to claim it. A fortress, sheltered by ravines and cliffs, where the Inquisition could stay, rebuild, grow. Where they would be protected from harm, families could be raised, and new alliances could be built. She relayed Solas' words as if they were her own, feeling him observe her performance from the shadow. It was a gamble to rely on his promise, but also the only option she had. The way she described the place, she almost convinced herself of its perfection. She hoped the elf had not overplayed his hand.

The shimmers of hope flickered on in the crowd like candles in the silent night. Several key figures rose to their feet — Threnn, Dennett, Harrit, as well as her companions — and lifted their arms to their chests, crossing them over their hearts in salute. Behind the mountain, the day slowly began to outline the horizon. Then, as if she had arranged it, a solemn song rose up from one of the tents.

Mother Giselle weaved her way through the crowd, her voice carrying the weight of the night in every word. Leliana's voice soon filled out the sound, prompting many more to follow. Elsa remained still for a moment, holding her gaze steady despite the blinding light of the morning sun. Then, she melted back into the Inquisition's leadership, now gathered together at the central campfire. Once every soul was singing the hymn, she joined in as well.

_Crisis averted… for the moment._

o - o - o

For the next days, there was little room to consider her situation. As promising as the place Solas had spoken of sounded, the reality of their circumstances didn't make it easy to get there. The inspired mood could only last so long and soon she found herself growing tired of trying to lift everyone's spirits when her own were far from great. Not to mention that the act itself had turned a lot more challenging than it was before. While some seemed firmly cemented in their idea that she was nothing short of Andraste incarnate, others let their doubts show considerably. She would catch people staring at her; some with distrust, like the templars, others simply in uncomfortable silence. She assumed that people were too tired and hungry to sow further dissent among the group for now. Soon, however, she'd have to deal with it more permanently.

They walked from dawn until dusk each day, using every minute of daylight to their advantage. Much of her time was spent ahead of the pack with Varric, who continuously challenged her to road games. At first she thought he did it to cheer her up, but as time went by it seemed to be rather for his own benefit. The hardy dwarf's eyes were lined with dark circles and his mood seemed to sour rapidly under their rationed diet.

She terminated their game of 'I spy' after she guessed 'that patch of snow' more times than she could count that day. The slope of the mountain was getting steeper and soon they needed all their energy to keep going in the thin air. Varric didn't object and slogged next to her, breathing heavily, until they reached the summit.

A grey stone keep, dangerously perched on the edge of a ravine, became visible through the low-hanging clouds. A massive bridge spanned the depth below, leading up to the gate. The flags were in tatters, pulled apart by ages of wind and weather, yet they still proudly adorned the towers that pointed towards the heavens. Many a lord in her acquaintance would kill for such a castle, their own holdings dwarfed by this forgotten structure in the mountains.

Solas appeared next to them with Cole.

"Did Solas overplay his hand?" the boy asked her.

"I don't believe so," she said quietly, eyeing the mage. "It looks like it's just what we need."


	19. Turn of the Screw

"It definitely has… potential."

Josephine looked around the grand hall. She had her quill and board in hand, ready to start a to-do list. To Elsa's surprise, both utensils had made it out of Haven unscathed. Their presence was comforting in a way. The sight of the poised Ambassador was the closest to anything resembling normalcy since the attack, like a distant memory of a simpler time. Yet it was clear that no-one, including Josephine, was quite the same since that night. Despite her attempts at seeing the bright side, her quill uncharacteristically hovered above the parchment, uncertain where to start. Her eyes flitted from the holes in the walls, to the broken hinges on the doors, to the caved in parts of the ceiling now adorning the ground. It would be a momentous task to make this place liveable, let alone presentable.

Elsa followed the Ambassador, who walked forward, tapping the feather against her bottom lip as she surveyed the space. A rustle beneath an old banner made them halt, then jump backwards as a pack of rats came scurrying out towards them. Josephine slapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a high-pitched scream, while Elsa grabbed onto her arm in a reflex. Both let out a nervous breath as they watched the last of the vermin disappear under some debris further away. It was Elsa's that turned to laughter first, a breathless chuckle, but one that wouldn't stop. Josephine joined in, careful at first, but her voice soon finding some of its familiar brightness.

They stood in the middle of the ruin, holding on to each other for support, laughing without knowing why and unable to stop. The sound reverberated against the empty walls, rolled over the broken statues, and reflected back from the filthy windows. They laughed until Elsa was clutching her side for support, and Josephine wiped tears from her eyes to keep them from landing on her parchment. Both took deep, shaky breaths, trying to regain their composure should someone come walking into the hall.

"Right," Josephine said with a slight hiccup. She spun her quill between her fingers with a flourish and tapped the tip onto the paper. "Let's get to work."

The quill began to move, fast and precise, as the Ambassador's dark eyes moved across the room. Elsa watched the words appear on the parchment, once in a while making a suggestion. Josephine nodded in acknowledgement each time, her hand not stopping for a moment. Elsa watched her with satisfaction. Skyhold was indeed exactly what everyone needed now. Something resembling a roof over their heads, walls to shield them; a place to call their own. Most importantly, it was a project. Nothing better to avoid things one would rather not think about.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

"How long until this place is defensible?"

Cassandra addressed him from across the table. They'd grabbed the first unbroken one they could find, after which they'd started carving a floor plan of Skyhold into the surface. It would need to be replaced the moment they had access to some proper scrolls, but it would do for the moment.

"It is already better than any position we ever had in Haven." He etched in a cross where a broken ceiling blocked access to one of the towers. He'd done a quick round of the fortress himself to get a general sense of the layout, while the details were now being examined by his soldiers. Another one came running up to them as he spoke and reported on holes in the back wall of the keep.

"They're not a priority," Cullen grunted, making a quick scratch in the corresponding location. "Go check the eastern perimeter."

With the keep being built on the very edge of a cliff, the back was inaccessible to foot soldiers. He made the educated guess that even an archdemon — or dragon, whatever it had been — would be hard-pressed to target it. It made fixing any defects irrelevant for the moment. More pressing was the front of the keep, of which the walls were thicker than those of the Gallows and largely structurally sound. Should they be attacked again, their people would at least have safe harbour in the lower levels and their soldiers would stand a fighting chance.

"I'll get guard rotations up and running today," he mused, drawing a route along the walls. "But our next priority should be scouts in the mountains. We cannot be taken by surprise again like we were at Haven. There is only so much we can do against a dragon. Ballistae, if we can get them, and trained archers. But most importantly, we need to know if and when Corypheus is coming."

Leliana nodded in consent. "Agreed, we should get basic outposts set up as soon as possible. Josephine can contact some of our allies to see about equipment and other resources."

"Should she already?" Cassandra inquired. "For the moment, we can hope that Corypheus presumes us dead. Once we reach out, the news that we are not is likely to spread."

"We should find our bearings," the Spymaster agreed. "But we cannot wait too long. Right now, the rumour is circulating that the Inquisition — and the Herald — have been defeated. We should not let that stand too long, lest people start to panic and we lose our momentum. We should use the story of her resurrection while it has the most effect."

Cullen looked up from the table, raising an eyebrow. "You plan to spread that interpretation?"

"Are you suggesting we should not? It is in our best interests."

"She didn't die," he protested. "Her survival was —"

"A miracle."

"I… suppose that's one word for it."

"We will not lie, Commander," she said gently, "But there is no point in downplaying reality, nor discourage anyone from sharing their own views. It will help the Inquisition. Plus… a positive story is the best thing to distract from a negative one."

Cassandra folded her arms in front of her chest. "We should discuss how we are going to handle that situation. Where is Josephine?"

"Surveying the main hall," Leliana replied. "She should join us in a bit."

The Seeker nodded, then returned her attention to him. "What is the general sentiment among the soldiers?"

"Morale has been low…" He found his thoughts forming slowly as he struggled to capture the mood of the last few days. "But it's picked up since we arrived here. Regarding the Herald… I'd say the only real concern is among the Templars. Rylen tells me our own men are not that affected. Surprised undoubtedly, but most people believe in her. Perhaps even more so since Haven."

"She handled the situation well enough," Leliana mused, looking contemplative. "Of course, she also indirectly cemented our support for her, which we now need to manage."

"What do you mean?"

"Did you not notice? She only spoke of 'us' in that speech. She presented herself as inextricably linked to the Inquisition, no doubt for her own protection. If you stand against her, the mage who opposed Corypheus, you stand against all of us."

"Are you saying she is wrong in that?" he replied sharply.

"Of course not… but it doesn't change that having her be so is a possible controversy that could damage us."

"How involved do we want her to be, moving forward?" Cassandra asked.

"She is the only person who can close rifts," Cullen reminded her.

"True, and her reputation is a considerable asset," the Spymaster nodded. "She has proven herself many times by now. What we need to do, is downplay the particulars of her magic training."

"How do you mean?"

"Although these Tevinter extremists do not help, the problem is not that she is a mage," Leliana continued. "The real issue is that some of the templars saw her lose control over it. It shouldn't be too hard to pivot that into something else. She was exhausted, under-cooled, injured… That should be the official explanation, should it come up."

"And anyone questioning that?" Cassandra inquired. "What if they expect her to use magic?"

They stood in silence a moment, contemplating the hypothetical. It was then that the approach of Josephine, lightly skipping down the steps of the keep, provided a momentary distraction. It cheered Cullen to see that the Ambassador was in better spirits, as she had been particularly miserable during their trek through the mountains. To her credit, she had managed to bite back any complaints she might have had. Now she paid close attention to Leliana as the Spymaster brought her up to speed on their present discussion, then quickly flipped to another page on her clipboard.

"The best thing is for us to get up and running as soon as possible. This…" She gestured at their general surroundings, "…place needs to be fixed up if we are to receive anyone of importance. In the meantime, I suggest we keep providing aid where we can. The Herald was most effective in garnering support when she was travelling the Hinterlands. We had requests coming in every day at Haven. They can be our focus until we have reestablished ourselves."

"Can we be sure Corypheus won't target her again?" Cassandra asked.

"It does not seem likely for the moment," Cullen replied, though not without hesitation. "He undoubtedly needs to recover from his losses as well."

"It's important that we take control of the narrative," Josephine continued. "Actions speak louder than words."

"If we go that route…" Leliana said contemplatively, "What is she going to be?"

"She already is the Herald," Cullen retorted. "Does she need to be anything more?"

"I mean, does she act as an agent of the Inquisition? As part of its leadership? The people decided on the Herald after the Conclave, but that was before we knew what we were up against. Now that Corypheus has revealed himself, I think we need something to counter that threat."

"Formalising her position would help in making the Inquisition appear united and well-organised, even after suffering a defeat," Josephine murmured, lips pressed against her quill.

"We never decided on an Inquisitor…" Cassandra's eyebrows were drawn into deep thought. "Perhaps now is the time."

"Do you think she wants that position?" Cullen interjected.

Elsa had not been herself, not since they returned from Therinfal. Had she not gone to find her brother at the Conclave, she would not have been exposed to any of the horrors she'd seen over the past months. She would not have been marked by Corypheus, nor would her mind have been invaded by a demon. Her secrets would not have been laid bare to the world, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. She had been doubtful of her place and the meaning of it all even before the attack on Haven. Though she had given an impression of confidence during their trek through the mountains, surely her concerns had not simply been resolved in the last days?

"I don't think she has much choice," Leliana replied. "She can't leave, and she needs our support here as much as we need hers."

Cassandra nodded in agreement, and with that the decision seemed to have been made. Cullen moved a marker on the map — a chess piece he'd found on the ground, for lack of something more appropriate — to hide his discomfort. As the Inquisition's Commander, he had no issue rallying behind Elsa as their leader. Nor would he shy away from defending that decision to anyone who might question it. His doubts came from a place much more personal, one that had no place at this table. Unfortunately that did not make them easy to ignore.

"… What about the magic concern?" Josephine reminded them.

"It's not something we can decide for her," Cullen replied, before anyone else could. While he felt certain enough the Herald would work with them professionally, her history with magic was different. While his position did not allow him to protect her from whatever danger might befall her next, at the very least he could offer her some agency in something so personal.

"I would agree," Leliana replied, to his surprise. "Perhaps you can discuss with her what she wants to do, Commander. She has been more forthcoming with you regarding this topic than with us."

"I can…" he said uncertainly, wondering what trap he had just stumbled into. "What do you want me to achieve, exactly?"

"The ideal outcome is for her to learn some basics," Leliana replied. "A mage without talent that cannot use magic will be seen as unreliable. On the other hand, not using it out of principle will raise questions. At the very least she might be able to defend herself in a time of need."

"That would also help in keeping her safe," Josephine added.

"Please offer this option to her, Commander," the Spymaster continued, her smile far too knowing. "She is most likely to accept it coming from you."

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

Elsa watched the group disband from the main hall's entrance. She was not surprised to have been excluded from the meeting. Her standing in the Inquisition was not as clear-cut as it had been a week ago. Judging from the expressions she'd observed on their faces, there was little doubt this had been one of the discussion topics. A conversation with her was undoubtedly forthcoming, one that she wasn't sure how to prepare for.

She spent the rest of the day helping out where she could, spending most of her time with Cole in the makeshift infirmary. The boy's presence, odd as he could be, remained strangely soothing. Being around him quieted the voices that whispered in the back of her head, stopped the nerves from gnawing at her stomach. A discussion between Vivienne and Solas had given her a moment's pause to reconsider this effect. If she had learned anything, it was that consorting with demons was not something that should be pursued. But Solas did not seem concerned, which was enough to win her over. Even without his endorsement, however, she doubted she could ever distrust Cole after what he'd done for her. The boy was strange, to be sure, but his heart seemed in the right place.

Cullen approached her after dinner that evening, his expression leaving little to the imagination as to what his purpose was. She silently cursed the others for recruiting him for this. His clear discomfort with the topic he was about to bring up worked as disarming as she knew Leliana had anticipated it to be.

"Lady Herald," he began, and he cleared his throat. "Could we speak?"

"Of course, Commander."

She got up from the overturned bucket she'd been sitting on and followed him away from the crowd. Many heads turned to follow them, the templar with the burn and several of his colleagues among them. She focused her gaze on the back of Cullen's head, not deigning the onlookers with a response. With food in their stomachs and a place to sleep, she wondered how long it would be for the dogs to start biting the hand that fed them.

Cullen turned away from the courtyard, heading for the steps leading up unto the wall. "Up here," he said apologetically, motioning towards them. "If you don't mind."

_He doesn't want to be overheard._

She pulled her cloak closer around her as they reached the top of the stairs and left the wall's shelter. The sharp wind stirred her hair, pulling it out of the bun that had loosened throughout the day. Cullen continued to walk, eventually halting next to one of the towers.

"Is this alright? The tower should keep the wind away."

The tower's entrance was blocked, making how they came the only possible way to their location. Anyone approaching them would be spotted by the Commander from a mile away. She looked over her shoulder at the people below them, noting how they should also be able to see them.

_Doesn't want to be overheard, but doesn't want to raise questions in being alone… What are you up to?_

"This is fine, Cullen." She smiled at him, her guard asserting itself. "How have you been?"

"I — Well, thank you. We should be able to start reconstructions soon. Guard rotations have been established. We won't run from here."

"That's good to hear," she laughed, "but I actually meant it on a more personal level."

"Yes…" He touched the back of his neck, poorly masking his nerves. "I just realised that. I'm… good. As well as can be expected, I suppose. How… how are you?"

She paused a moment to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, noticing how his eyes trailed her movement. "I'm alright," she shrugged. "I'm alive. That's something to celebrate, isn't it?"

"It is…"

His golden eyes were a muted brown under the starry night sky. They looked away at the ground, briefly shrouding them in shadow. When they returned to meet hers, she was not prepared for the emotion within them. They seemed to burn right through her, melting away any intent of keeping up her defences. When he spoke again, the quiet tone made her heart ache.

"I thought you were gone."

She swallowed. Perhaps she'd been wrong about the nature of this conversation. She had been steeling herself for it since the attack. Her place within the Inquisition was secure enough, she'd made sure of it. It would remain so as long as there were rifts to be closed, but what exactly her role would be from now on was less certain. If Haven had shown anything, it was that she was no match for a creature like Corypheus. She had run all the options through her mind a hundred times over — becoming an agent in the field, retreating to the Chantry and working with the sisters, continue her ceremonial position as the Herald but with no real involvement… It all depended what the least damaging role for her would be, given that her sterling reputation was no longer untarnished. Once they were no longer in immediate danger, someone must have realised this to be the case. But the intensity that Cullen now regarded her with did not seem to signal this particular discussion. Instead, it only made memories that had been banished to the edges of her mind rush forward.

His gloved hand rested on the battlements beside him, protected by the smooth leather that had grazed her bare back. He had later pulled it off with his teeth, before his fingers snaked into her hair and drew her into a kiss. Her eyes traced the shape of his lips, the skin of her neck suddenly aflame at the memory of their feverish touch. His eyes continued to regard her with a pained expression, making her heart hammer against her ribs. Their time together before the attack hadn't been long, an hour at most, but it had been her first. She'd read about it, heard about it from others, but she had not believed it. All those songs, all that literature… about something that lasted no time at all. Yet it was that which now managed to chase away her reason once again, and fill her chest with light. She was the mage, but the power that this man wielded was one far more dangerous.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have left the Chantry. It was too much, I didn't —"

"It's okay." His hand reached out the her, but halted shortly before her arm. His fingers only lightly touched the fabric of her sleeve, before pulling away. "I'm sorry you had to go through that…" he said quietly. "I will not allow those events to repeat. You have my word."

Elsa bit the inside of her lip, her eyes trailing his hand as it slowly withdrew to the battlements. His other found its way to the pommel of his sword. She felt the familiar urge to jump into his arms, but it was not going to happen. He was not reaching out, he was retreating. His face just hadn't caught up with that fact yet. She violently smashed down the memories again, anxious to get herself under control before he would speak again.

His eyes shifted away, then back again. "There is something we need to discuss."

"Yes… that much was clear."

"Right." He cleared his throat and shifted his weight, hand wringing the end of his weapon. "The others want to formalise your position in the Inquisition, unite the movement behind you."

She considered the words, momentarily at a loss for their meaning. Whatever he was talking about, it was an odd way to describe any of the scenarios she'd pictured. They were all based on lessening her importance, not pushing her further to the front.

"In what way?"

"They — I mean, we — intend to put you forward as Inquisitor."

He averted his gaze, perhaps to give her time to process the information, more likely to hide his own discomfort. A muscle tensed in his cheek, sharpening the line of his jaw. His stubble was longer than usual, a little longer even than it had been that night. It made him appear softer, making her want to reach out and stroke the side of his face. She cursed herself for the urge.

"Oh… I see."

His eyes shifted back to her, briefly assessing her from their corners. A new hint of discomfort began to show itself there – the unwelcome bearer of more bad news.

"Is there something else?"

He looked away, glanced back, then straightened himself up. His hand now firmly gripped his sword, the other lay on top of the first. "We need to know how you want to handle the rumours about you being a mage."

His stance was a practised one, one that she recognised. Templars standing guard outside the Circle, in front of the Chantry… in her own home. She pushed her shoulders back, her reply at the ready.

"I have thought about that. Given my family's background, I think it's a plausible explanation that I choose not to use magic. With the state of the world, it should not be difficult to defend. My use of it was a one-off, due to the circumstances, which also accounted for my lack of control."

He furrowed his brow, sizing her up.

"It would be odd if you're in a dangerous situation and do not use it again. You'd also be giving the impression that the Inquisition does not condone the use of magic," he said slowly. She doubted that he'd have thought that through a few months ago… her own influence likely had done that, but for the moment she blamed the Spymaster.

"I… suppose that could be true."

"Is that what you want?"

"No — I mean, I don't think magic is… wrong. People like Vivienne and Solas can do good. But in general…" She paused, temporarily at a loss for words. Her nerves were too close to the surface, her mind too chaotic. "I speak for myself, not for others."

"Except you don't anymore. Once you are Inquisitor, you speak for all of us."

"It is not my decision that I take that position."

"But you won't turn it down either?"

"Is that an option?"

"… No. No, it is not. We need you."

Elsa remained silent, biting the inside of her lip.

"Leliana has suggested an alternative."

_Of course she has._ "And what is that?"

"You learn how to use it. Go through training so you can at least defend yourself."

"Out of the question."

"Now, wait a minute —"

"No, Cullen! Just… no." He'd stepped towards her, making her back away. "I can't."

"I can work with you," he offered. "And whichever mage you feel most comfortable with. Most apprentices can learn a decent barrier spell, at least. Perhaps healing. You would be safer —"

"NO!"

Panic gripped her heart, too soon after the last time. Therinfal had cracked the window, Haven had smashed it. She'd given in, opening the cage she'd sworn to keep shut, a moment of weakness in dire circumstances. It should never have happened, and it was not to happen again. Her instincts kicked in, telling her to run. She couldn't deal with it again.

She shook her head in disbelief. "I thought you understood."

"I do! I understand, but—"

"If you did, you wouldn't ask this of me."

"You know I don't care about the politics," he said sternly. "But as the Inquisition's Commander, I need to take all the angles into consideration. We're facing a grave threat."

_The Inquisition's Commander…_

The longer she looked, the further away he seemed, rapidly becoming more distant despite neither of them moving. She had not considered they'd put her at the front of the organisation. In her own assessment it wouldn't be worth the risk. Perhaps she'd underestimated the effect her survival had on the people or overestimated the impact of the templars seeing her use magic. The implications of it rapidly formulated in her mind.

"Very well…" She straightened herself up, defiance raging and years of practised authority reasserting itself. "You need me, so this is the deal. You want me to rally the people to fight Corypheus? Fine. Build alliances? Done. Whatever you need, I will do the best I can and you know I'll do it well. If anyone questions me about magic, I will deal with them. Outside of that happening, we do not discuss this any further."

"Elsa —"

"Good night, Commander."

She turned on her heel, cloak billowing in the wind, and strode back to the staircase. His heavy footfall followed her for a moment, then fell behind. She took the steps as quickly as she could without running, crossed the courtyard, and entered the grand hall. Varric was sitting on his bedroll, reading a letter by candlelight. He looked up at her approach, eyeing her quizzically as she threw herself unto her own mat and turned her back towards him.

"Sterling?"

"Not tonight, Varric," she sighed. "Just… not tonight."

Tears pooled in her eyes, daydreams of amber eyes she had entertained evaporating before her. _Let them out now_, she told herself. _They'll be gone tomorrow._

Varric didn't speak anymore. Instead he rested his hand on her shoulder, steadying it as she made the silent vow that these were the last tears she would allow herself to shed.


	20. Back in the Saddle

By the next morning, the tears were gone. Another memory, locked away where it belonged. She lay in the dark for a moment, having woken well before the dawn.

_Stupid girl… So much energy wasted. Get up. This isn't you._

There was work to do. She got up, mind churning as she planned ahead for what was needed. Her first task was to unbar the door in the back of the hall. With effort she moved the junk blocking it, until eventually she could bash through the worn wood. The musty smell of old dirt and fungus prevalent in most of the castle wafted out in her direction. She steeled herself for a moment, suppressing a wave of sickness, then stepped inside.

A dusty staircase led up into the tower. It creaked ominously under her weight. She made her way up slowly, sidestepping patches of rot. At the end of a perilous journey, she finally made it to the top. The door was stuck, requiring a good ten minutes to wrench open. Her hair was sticking to her forehead by the time she managed. Another set of stone steps led up, where she finally found what she'd expected.

The highest room in the building with balconies overlooking the cliffs on one side and the courtyard on the other. She'd seen it from below and decided it could really only hold one thing. Its height made it too impractical to have any military function, yet it provided a view that allowed the occupant to keep an eye on most things going on in the keep. It could have only been someone's private quarters, belonging to whomever had been the master of this castle before they'd arrived. She was pleased to see she wasn't wrong.

Although there wasn't much left of it, what she had managed to uncover were the remains of an ornate bedroom. Moth-eaten curtains hung lopsided at the edges of the exits. In the middle stood a four-poster bed, collapsed on one side. It currently seemed to host a family of vermin, evident from the holes in the mattress and wriggling of the sun-bleached sheets. She suppressed a shiver, then turned towards the thing she came up here to find. A full-length mirror, dirty and broken at the bottom, but still able to perform its function. She stepped over bits of wood and rocks to cross the room, keeping an eye on the holes in the ceiling, and stood in front of it.

What was looking at her was but a shadow of its former self. She'd lost weight, as they all had since Haven, but she hadn't yet seen the effects of it on her own face. Her cheekbones had sharpened beyond their usual definition, as had her jawline. Her neck was thin, with muscle lines showing whenever she turned her head. There was little left of her arms, sticking out like branches from her sullied traveller's outfit. Her hair was a dirty mess, half in and half out of a lazy braid and stained with nights on murky ground. The most noticeable change, however, were her eyes. One of her best assets — as her mother called them — with their slight curve and unusual colour. For years they had been her primary weapon against men of power, requiring but a look or a flutter to bend them to her will. Now, they lay sunken into her bony face, lined with dark rings from broken sleep in the freezing cold.

A battle plan formed in her head as she assessed the damage. There was no water up here, and the well they had uncovered would require a few more days to clear. Instead, her eye fell on an old jug lying on the ground. It required a quick wipe with the edge of her cloak to clean out the cobwebs, before she filled it on the balcony where years of snow had piled up high against the glass. She stripped down, confident no one would bother to come up here any time soon, and revealed the rest of her body. Shivering, she cast another quick glance in the mirror. She'd never been very curvy, but she'd had more shape than many of the other debutantes at home. Now, however, she almost resembled those girls her mother had loudly criticised for their shortcomings. Her breasts had gotten smaller, her curves had smoothed out. Instead, her hip bones protruded noticeably, as did her shoulders, knees, and elbows. She made a mental note to move 'provisions' to the top of the to-do list.

Her hand hovered above the jug for a moment. They'd been heating snow for cooking, but she was still a klutz with flint and steel. Servants had lit the fires at home and kept them going. Varric had shown her how to do it when they were camping, but she hadn't bothered practising. She silently cursed her negligence; it was a skill she'd have to master one of these days. She took a deep breath, and got to work. Goose bumps spread like wildfire when she grabbed a fistful of snow and started cleaning herself with it. She quickly rubbed it into her skin, her teeth chattering violently. She'd always loved getting clean — long steaming baths to wash away whatever stains the day had left. It was harder to enjoy it jumping from one foot to the other, fumbling with her frozen fingers, but the effect would be the same. It took several attempts, the first handfuls merely smearing the dirt around and only the second round actually causing it to drip onto the floor. It required a third to finally see her clear skin showing through, though it was raw and red by the time she'd managed.

Once mostly finished, she wrapped herself in her cloak. She sat herself down, shivering as she spent a much longer time picking the dirt from her nails. She didn't tend to keep them very long, but now they'd largely ripped or broken off shorter than usual. Some rummaging through the dusty vanity supplied her with a small trimming knife, which she used to even them out. Finally, she refilled the jug on the balcony and turned to washing out her hair.

The cold stung like needles worming its way into her skull. She huffed short breaths, furiously rubbing the snow into the strands as quickly as she could. It was long at the moment, despite Lady Vivienne giving it a trim before they closed the Breach. For a moment she considered cutting it for convenience, but then decided against it. With some luck she'd have better bathing facilities soon enough. She would need all her assets in the time to come.

The sun peaked out from behind the mountains, tickling her skin with a hint of warmth. It wasn't much, but she took anything she could get for the moment. Once her hair finally seemed to have regained its proper colour, she quickly braided it up. Something pretty, yet sensible. Most importantly, something that would keep the strands from freezing in her neck. She evaluated her work for a second, then tiptoed towards the cupboards on the other side of the room while trying to touch as little of the floor as possible. To her relief, no vermin came scurrying out when she pulled them open, though she was less impressed with the contents.

Unfortunately, the previous occupant of the room had been a man. While he appeared to have been her height, she doubted she could make his dubious fashion sense work in her favour. Two more cupboards later, there was still nothing in either a condition or style that would allow her to wear it. She almost considered putting on her old garb — though how she could spruce it up was beyond her — when she noticed a large chest hidden in an alcove. It was sturdy and without holes, meaning the rats might not have gotten into it yet. She hopped over, shaking in her cloak, and pulled it open.

_Perfect._

The man had apparently kept a female companion — or a hobby, she didn't judge — with much better taste. The dresses were the least dusty thing she'd encountered in the keep so far and clearly suited for the cold climate. There were several colours, as well as some underclothes and accessories. She quickly pulled on a first layer, then picked out a dark grey ensemble with gold threading and fur lining the shoulders. It didn't fit perfectly, leaving some space in the areas she would have filled out better a few weeks ago, but it would do. No longer freezing, she pulled her boots back on and took a moment to observe her transformation.

_Not bad… Not bad at all._

She was in good shape for the next tasks she had planned, as well as the inevitable meeting with the Inquisition's leadership. Negotiations would be easier now she felt more like her former self; before she'd ever killed people, been assaulted by Envy, dragged through the dirt by a dragon…Before she'd ever let her guard down, and let herself fall for —

_Stop. Don't even think about it._

o - o - o

Her next stop was the southern wing of the castle, largely blocked off by debris from a fallen bridge. The templars had set up on the other side of it, sleeping in the remains of a large barn. Master Dennett had insisted the few horses they'd managed to save be put up in the stable area, which was mostly intact. This had relegated the knights to spreading their bedrolls among the straw, looking up at the night sky through the gaps in the ceiling.

It was still early, the castle only barely awake. At Elsa's approach, most of the men were still sitting or even lying on the ground. A few were up and in different states of dress, sitting around on some overturned barrels. None of them noticed her approach, the poor quality sleep still thick in their eyes, until she cleared her throat.

A moment of stupefied silence before the knights jumped up from their seats, whirling around to face her. Their sudden movement set off their still sleeping brethren, who jerked up from their bedrolls. Ser Barris hurried towards the front, tripping over his own boots, and bowed his head as he saluted her. The men behind him were quick to follow his example.

"Lady Herald. Apologies for our state. We were not expecting you."

_That was the goal, my dear._

"Please, Ser Barris," she said kindly. "It is my mistake for calling upon you so early without notice. Do forgive me."

"You have no need for our forgiveness, my lady. What can we do for you?"

"Well, this is a little awkward…" She paused to stroke a lock of hair behind her ear, feigning embarrassment. "It has been brought to my attention that some in your rank still have reservations about my use of magic… When I was close to dying, after launching the avalanche that saved the Inquisition from defeat."

He swallowed visibly.

"It… I assure you, there is no one who questions your bravery during the attack… or in closing the Breach!"

"Or at Therinfal," she added helpfully.

"Indeed!" Sweat began to pearl on his forehead, despite the draft coming in through the broken walls. "We owe you our lives, and the continued existence of the Order. A—anyone who doubts you, will be dealt with. You have my word."

"Thank you, Ser Barris. I very much want to believe your remarks are in earnest. However, your good intentions have not stopped some among your ranks from spreading rumours about me. While I am sure the people will be able to tell fact from fiction, it causes us needless additional work to set any misconceptions straight."

"I will personally see to it that —"

"That is good to hear," she said, turning her attention from him to the others. Drawing herself up to her full length, she raised her voice. "Rather than some of the more fanciful stories that have been going around, I will now inform you of the truth that has been known by the Inquisition's leadership for many months. I am, indeed, a mage. After I joined the Inquisition at its inception, it was decided that this information would only be shared with a select group. While you may have missed some of the circumstances when you retreated to Therinfal Redoubt, I am sure you can understand why this decision was made."

_Nodding… Embarrassment… Is that one blushing? This is too easy._

"I come from a family of renowned templars, one of whom is Knight-Commander of the Ostwick Circle. I received my training at our estate, under their supervision. Our personal opinion is that magic is a force that should only be used under dire circumstances. Some of you witnessed those circumstances, when I nearly froze to death.

"It is not a situation that many mages, or anyone, will ever find themselves in. Indeed, I was not able to anticipate its effects. It caused me to waver in a way I do not usually do. While this may have been alarming for some of you, it has given me cause to intensify my training. In that way, I will be prepared in the future, should another such a situation present itself.

"Take note that while I only use my power on the most serious occasion, the Inquisition will work together with anyone who is willing, including mages, to fulfil its purpose. As a part of the Inquisition, you are expected to share these values. It is only together that we may defeat those who would abuse their powers and oppress the innocent.

"Your brethren from Therinfal will join us here soon. When they do, our mission will be to bring Corypheus and those he commands to justice. I am informing you now that any distractions from this goal will not be tolerated."

She let the words sink in a moment, observing the crowd. Most of these men would not cause her concern. Only a few remained who looked at her defiantly, challenging her to make true on her promises.

"Let me make myself perfectly clear…" She spoke more quietly now, although no less audible. "If you take actions that work against the efforts of this organisation, you will be released from your duties and may try your luck outside of these walls."

Her eyes continued to rest on the man with the scarred face. He stared back at her a moment longer, but then averted his gaze.

_I didn't think so._

Most of the men had already followed his example and were now staring at their boots or bare feet. Ser Barris shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat.

"We understand you perfectly, Lady Herald. The Inquisition has our loyalty. On my honour."

"Thank you, Ser Barris," she said, shooting him one of her most charming smiles. "I have no doubt of it. Now, I think you could all benefit from more sheltered sleeping quarters. It is my goal to provide you with them by tonight."

With that, she turned around and swept from the room.

_Check._

o - o - o

She avoided the Inquisition's leadership for the time being, telling the runner summoning her to the war room that she would meet them at the end of the day. Apparently they had a war room again. She wondered at the priorities of the others, though there was little doubt whom had been responsible for that particular decision. Made sense… the few times they'd spoken since the attack, he seemed visibly distraught by the thought he might have been more prepared. Perhaps if they hadn't been together that night —

_Stop it._

Instead, she put into motion the first elements on her endless to-do list to get the keep up and running. Letters needed to be written, supply chains established. She'd have to consult with Josephine on those, but decided to strengthen her position first. It didn't take long to write down a long list of contacts and possible requests they could make of them. Abernache was at the top — as he owed them quite a bit — as well as many of the others who'd come to Haven. Her quill hovered for a while at the end of the list. There was one contact she hadn't listed so far. Ostwick had not been affected much by recent events as of yet. Their Circle was still standing, though a little emptier perhaps, and most of their Templars had not abandoned the Chantry. She imagined things were largely happening as normal back home, which was an odd idea. They'd have enough stored from the last harvest to send their way, as well as other supplies. It would be very hard to explain if she did not add them to the list. She weighed the decision in her head, thinking of possible reasons to leave them off when someone would ask. It wasn't workable… not without a lot more questions. With a sigh she dipped her quill in the ink and wrote:

_Bann and Lady Trevelyan, Ostwick — grain, meat, firewood, apparel, tools._

o - o - o

The fortress was massive, with many passages to easily get lost in. Every corner revealed something new — debris, dirt, nesting animals — that needed to be dealt with. Proper sleeping places were her first concern, then the infrastructure for a mess hall. Sleep and food, the first basic needs of any person, including herself. So she focused her efforts, and the small army of women and Chantry sisters at her disposal, on cleaning out the rooms hiding within the lower barracks. Mouldy bedding was taken outside to air, floors were scrubbed, and vermin was chased from the gaps and cracks in the walls.

The smell in the keep slowly lifted with every room cleared, every cobweb removed, every stain scrubbed away. Watching the castle regain some of its former glory, brick by brick, was a satisfying feeling. While some other ladies in her position — waiting in between social events until they met their prospective marriage partner — seemed content filling their time with frivolities, it was this feeling that had kept her going back home. Charity work, organising events for the local population, chairing committees… She'd been limited in much of that, her family never quite trusting her to not betray their secrets. But if she had proven anything the last few months in Haven, it was that she could. Not only that, she was good at it. The fruits of her efforts had been much more tangible too, seeing them for herself rather than hearing about them through letters of gratitude after the fact. She had not planned to be part of the Inquisition, but leaving had not been an option since her hand had been marked. If this was how she could benefit the Inquisition from here on, it might not just make her time bearable… She might actually be able to enjoy it. Perhaps, once they'd moved on from the magic issue, she and Cul—

_The Inquisition's Commander. Stop going there._

They'd have a professional working relationship, just like they'd had when they first started out. What was important were the people affected by Corypheus. Those who required guidance, whose houses needed to be rebuild, who needed something to believe in. They could extend their efforts far beyond this abandoned castle, providing aid in all corners of the ravaged country. They'd done it at the Crossroads village, they could do it in other places. Doing work like that, on such a scale… They'd be doing it together, like partn—

_No, stop it._

But maybe —

_Go away._

o - o - o

At the end of the day, the barracks were habitable once again. While the room dressings were still bare, the bedrolls now lay on clean floors and the heat from the torches did not escape into the night sky. Elsa eyed the work they'd done, evaluating the extended effects beyond the functional. She'd made sure their efforts were visible to those around, with the workers tossing the dirty water outside the walls so they would cross the courtyard each time. Although they had continuously offered to empty her bucket for her, she had been sure to do it herself. Her dress was stained now from sitting on her knees and water sloshing over the side of the pail, though it did not show too much on the dark grey fabric. Enough to show her hard work, not so much as to taint her appearance. So far, everything was going according to plan.

At last she returned to the central hall, documents and lists in her arms. She'd set the meeting for sundown, which gave her enough time to come in early and prepare. Varric caught her eye on her way towards the newly established war room.

"Sterling —"

"I need to be somewhere, Varric," she said a little more curtly than she had planned. He raised an eyebrow, giving her pause. "Sorry," she said, glancing at the door for any other members of the leadership. "Is it something quick? I just… Well, I'm not sure what kind of meeting I'm about to walk into."

He considered her a moment, his hand resting on a letter tucked in his belt. She noticed the scrawly handwriting. It was the same one he'd been reading the night before. Although her curiosity was piqued, her mind was already in the war room.

"It's okay," he said, waving a hand. "We'll talk later."

"Thank you." She gave him a flighty smile, then hurried on.

She made her way through a room that looked like it had once been a small library. Perhaps a suitable office space, she noted, until a cold blast nearly pulled the scrolls from her arms. She shivered, holding on to them as she silently cursed the massive hole in the following hallway.

_That'll need fixing as soon as possible._

The door slammed shut behind her. She blinked, letting her eyes get used to the muted light filtering in through the dirty lattice windows. A table stood in the centre of a large semi-circular room. It was the same one she'd noticed the others carving things into since their arrival. She added a note to her list of replacing it with something else, deposited her paperwork on top, and took out a flint and steel in an attempt to light the torches. She struck the sharp rock against the metal without immediate success, turning her face away to shield it from errant sparks.

"Do you… need some help?"

She spun around to find Cullen standing in the doorway, holding the door open with one arm, his own collection of paperwork in the other. He was observing her with tilted head… Amused, but not mocking. Her attention was drawn to the scar, and how it moved with his smile. There was something strangely becoming about the mark. Lying in his arms, she'd traced it with her finger—

_Shut up._

"If you don't mind." She held the tool out to him. "Not my expertise, I'm afraid."

He walked over to the table to drop his papers. Among them appeared to be some of their old maps, as well as other bits scribbled on scraps of parchment he'd scavenged from the wagons like she had.

"We'll need a bigger table soon," he said, taking the tool from her. He took one of the torches from the wall and laid it on the ground.

"I was thinking that. I have possible suppliers in mind who owe us some favours."

With a few strikes he'd lit the oiled cloth, after which he took the torch around the room to light the others. It made her grateful for his entrance… She had planned to light each of them separately using the clumsy equipment. The Commander had unknowingly saved her from looking quite the fool.

"It will be a while until anyone can reach us here," he replied. "There are some large evergreens not too far down the mountain. We should prioritise construction, but we could build something ourselves."

With all torches lit there was a sudden warmness to the room. It needed a good cleaning, proper furnishing, but it would be a pleasant space eventually. She wondered to which extent it was important for it to be as such. It had been a requirement for the meeting room at home, but how much was waging a war like running an estate? Long-running discussions, tough decisions… the highest of stakes. Corypheus was restoring his army, planning to assassinate the empress. They'd been dealing with small stuff so far, insignificant almost in comparison. What kind of matters would they be discussing here? What kind of decisions would she be expected to make?

"Are you alright?" he asked, handing her back the tool.

"Ah… Yes, thank you. I should really learn how to use these better."

"At least that's something ma—"

His voice trailed off mid-sentence and he did not continue. Instead, his hand reached for the back of his neck, betraying his sudden discomfort. Before she could reply, they were interrupted by the others entering the room.

She was nervous throughout the meeting, though she kept her composure. Quickly taking the lead, she took them through her developments of the day. Cullen raised his eyebrows in surprise at the quick transformation of the lower barracks, while Josephine thumbed through her suggested contacts. She nodded approvingly, adding scribbles here and there with her quill.

"You think you can approach them?" She tapped a nail against one of the names.

"My cousin married into their family," Elsa explained. "She's a massive gossip. What I wrote down is probably a conservative estimation of what we could get."

Josephine smiled knowingly, jotting down a mark next to the family name.

"Cullen, how is construction coming along?" Cassandra inquired.

"Well," he replied, sifting through his own documents. He pulled out a list and moved the rest to the side to point at the crude etching on the table. "We will clear the well by tomorrow, so we can all stop heating buckets of snow to wash." He glanced over to her, a quick smile flashing on his face. She returned the gesture, inclining her head in gratitude.

_Uh-huh… That's what I did._

"Our next priority will be to clear all the passages and the blockage in the courtyard. I will prepare a party to gather wood and stone starting tomorrow. We should be in decent shape by the end of the week."

"Good. That brings us to our final business." The Seeker straightened up from the table and all eyes focused on Elsa. "You have been informed of our plan," she stated. "We do not intend to force it on you, but you have seen the situation we are in. We need someone to lead us, to unify the Inquisition behind. We think that should be you."

"I have been informed," Elsa replied, sizing up the people around her. Leliana was unreadable, Josephine seemed quite elated. Cullen had rested his hands on the pommel of his sword, his expression one of serious concern. Cassandra seemed the most convinced of their proposal, as she had been of calling her Herald. "And you are sure?"

"We are," said the Spymaster. "It's a unanimous decision."

_That's a rare occurrence…_

"Despite the recent complication? I assume you have been informed of my position."

Cullen nodded, though he kept his eyes focused on the table.

Leliana pursed her lips slightly, considering. "It is your decision," she said eventually. "Although I hope you are aware of the possible ramifications."

"I have taken care of it," Elsa replied, a little more forcefully than planned. "The templars have been reminded of their position and what is expected of them if they wish to keep it. I will handle any rumours that have escaped to the outside, should they take hold."

Cullen tore his gaze away from the table. "… Reminded them of their position?"

"Then it is settled," Cassandra continued. "We will hold a ceremony at the end of the week."

"It should provide a nice occasion for our people to celebrate what they have accomplished since we arrived here," Josephine said brightly. "We should make something of an event of it."

"We shouldn't waste supplies," Cullen reminded her, his eyes still lingering on Elsa. "But if you can manage it, it would be a welcome boost to morale."

With that, they wrapped up the meeting. Leliana seemed to consider lingering behind, possibly tempted to raise the issue of magic once more, but then decided against it as the Commander stuck around as well. He waited for the door to fall shut behind the Spymaster, then turned on her.

"What did you say to the templars, exactly?"

"Only that they are expected to support the Inquisition and its goals. That includes working with mages willing to help us, so your concern about my views reflecting poorly on the Inquisition has been addressed."

"And if they don't?"

"They can leave. They haven't been conscripted, no one is keeping them here if they don't want to be."

"You remember you put them under my command, don't you?" he argued, pointing a finger at the table. "You can't undermine me like this."

"You are not the one they are concerned with!"

"But you don't have the right! It is mine, as their Commander."

"As Inquisitor, I will have every right."

"You aren't Inquisitor yet! Even when you are, you need to leave these things to me. We are doing this together, remember?"

His eyes, often so gentle, were shooting daggers at her from across the table. She'd seen him look this way at runners or soldiers who stepped out of line. He'd looked at her that way before as well, but it had been a while. It hurt more than she cared to admit.

"Every player in the Game is alone," she said, fighting to constrain her voice. "Leaders especially. There's a reason for that."

The anger was gone with a single blink of his eyes. He looked at her, brow furrowed. "That's not true."

"It is. You know it is. Was it different after the Kirkwall rebellion?"

"It — No, not necessarily. But this isn't that situation. I understand your position, but we are here to support you. You have to trust us to do our jobs."

"I do." She took a deep breath. "And you will have to trust me to do mine. I had to take care of this. Perhaps you don't see it that way, but it was in your interest as well. The rumours about me aren't likely to be the only ones going around."

His eyes narrowed as he processed her words. "What do you mean?"

"Haven was small. The circumstances might've worked in our favour, but there is a chance that people know what happened between us. Defending me personally, rather than supporting me as the Inquisition's leadership, could reflect on you as being biased. I don't believe that's a desirable position for the leader of an army."

Bringing up their night sent a flush to his face. He stepped back from the table, his hand instantly making the familiar motion upwards. Elsa swallowed and looked at the ground a moment to compose herself. Ever since it had happened she'd pushed the flutters away. There was no place for them here and they were a liability. How did other people handle feelings this complicated?

"I, eh…" He cleared his throat. "Forgive me. It's been… The circumstances, you know? It didn't seem like there was an appropriate time."

"That's fine."

"I just… I don't want you to think I was taking advantage of you. What happened between us was —"

"I don't. That's not…"

She paused, nerves now raging uncontrollably through her chest. They couldn't go here, she couldn't let them. Even after the argument yesterday, she still liked him—

_Doesn't matter._

He liked her as well. Perhaps—

_So what? Inquisition's Commander. He's made it clear what his priority is. You both have jobs to do. Things are only getting more complicated from now on._

She raised her head, forcing a smile. "I would not think that. We… found support in each other in trying times, that is all. Fortunately we do not live in a society where that needs to lead to anything else."

"I… I don't—"

"I do. I will use whatever skills at my disposal as Inquisitor, but that does not make me a warlord. I will need to rely on you… Commander."

He considered her, muscles in his jaw flexing. Eventually he straightened himself up, his hands returning to the pommel of his sword.

"And you can," he promised. "You will never get anything less than my best. Please trust in that."

She nodded, and with that he took his leave. Her gestures had that power now… to direct, and to dismiss. They'd moved on… The place they had gone mutually placed under lock and key. She took a deep breath when the door to the war room fell shut once more.

Things would be different from now on. There was an army out there, regrouping in secret until such a time that it would re-emerge. They'd have to raise their own and everything that went along with it. She eyed the results of the meeting before her on the table, new ideas rapidly forming in her head. Thoughts of Cullen lingered on the borders, but she gradually pushed them to the side. Soon they would take up less space, until eventually she'd keep them out altogether.

That was how it went. No pain is ever permanent, no hurt that cannot be forgotten. She'd never cared for frivolous stories of romance, with feelings that conquered time and space, that lasted through wars, famine, and death. It was one of the reasons Varric's work appealed to her, except for his _Swords and Shields_ series. His characters were messy and made mistakes and they did not always get their fairytale ending. There was companionship and loyalty, but not romanticised like in most other stories. She could have spent her time at home waiting, longing for someone to come sweep her off her feet, but she hadn't. Now, she could cling to a love that had barely even begun, but she knew she couldn't bring herself to do it, even if she might have wanted to. She was back in control, and she had work to do. As long as she could keep her emotions in line, there was little to get in her way now.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

Hooves clattered on the rocky surface, reverberating against the mountains. A horse and rider came to a halt at the top of the neighbouring cliff, framed by the full moon behind them as they looked down on the keep. The animal shook its head, then turned to find its way down the slope. They slowed when they reached the bridge, the clacking of hooves hollow in the chasm.

Cullen hurried down from the wall, reaching the courtyard just as the gate closed behind the visitor. The rider's face was covered by a hood, but the silhouette had been familiar from the moment he'd seen it appear atop the hill. Getting closer, he only grew more certain of his hunch. While it had been faint at first, like notes of a long lost song in the back of his mind, it was now thundering like an orchestra.

"Identify yourself."

She kicked off the stirrups and smoothly swung a leg over the horse's neck. There was barely a sound when she landed on the pavement. She lowered the hood, revealing raven hair and steely blue eyes. They looked at him, a slightly mocking smile playing around her lips.

"Good evening, Knight-Captain," Hawke said, the lightness of her tone an echo of simpler times. "Have you missed me?"


	21. Enemy of My Enemy

The Gallows' courtyard lay in shambles, broken statues in pieces on the ground. What was left of his commander was barely recognisable as such… The madness of her mind, fuelled by lyrium, had fully overtaken her body. One of his knights ran over to her, checking for a sign of life that she clearly wouldn't find.

Hawke straightened herself up and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Her hair was sticky with blood. Possibly her own… most definitely that of his comrades. Her companions had gathered around her, nervously eyeing the band of templars surrounding them. She had no interest in them. Instead she looked straight at him, her sharp eyes standing out like crystals in her soot-covered face.

A silent understanding passed between them, one he would wonder about in many quiet nights to come. There was a lot that could be said, but no space to say it. He held her gaze a while longer, then stepped back. The other knights followed his lead, clearing a path towards the exit. The mage signalled to her team with a jerk of her head. It was only when they had reached open space that she allowed her stance to relax. With the slightest of nods she bade him farewell. Then she turned and left Kirkwall for good.

It was the last he'd seen of the Champion who, in her absence, would become a legend. The hero who stood for mage freedom, a rallying cry for others in the battles that would soon follow. Among his remaining men she'd been a symbol of fear, yet even by them she was never hated. They respected her too much for that. It was this duality in her reputation, as well as its magnitude, that brought Cassandra to him some years later with Varric in tow. If anyone could help stop the war between mages and templars, it would be the fabled Hawke.

Now she was here… Months too late to do what Cassandra had wished of her and with seemingly little interest to have ever done so. She'd brought her horse to their stables while he fetched her something to drink. Now, she had sat herself down on the wall, one leg drawn up to her chest and leaning her back against the battlements. Her hand lay open on her thigh with her fingers curled. Small sparks of lightning jumped between them, like a miniature thunderstorm caught in an invisible sphere. They vanished the moment she saw him approach. He sat across from her, handing her the tankard of icy water. She looked inside of it, then at him.

"No beer?" she pouted.

"Have you seen a tavern here?"

"No wonder your guards look so grumpy."

She took a sip and made a face, before leaning back. Her smile was soft as she observed him, but she didn't speak for a while. Nothing in her manner suggested anything of remorse for the timing of her arrival, nor any tension from the circumstances of the last time they met.

"So…" He was unsure where to start. "How was your trip?"

She stared at him a moment, then threw her head back in a burst of laughter. Unrestrained and uncontrolled, no different than a decade ago in the Hanged Man.

"Maker's ass, I forgot," she hiccuped. "Hah… My trip was lovely, thanks for asking. To return the pleasantries, I love what you've done with this place."

"Alright," he retorted. "You want to get to business then?"

"Oh no, please. Let me tell you about all the wonderful things I saw on the way. Nothing like a war zone to put you in the holiday spirit, you know?"

"I see you haven't changed."

Wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, she went quiet. When she refocused on him, she was no longer laughing. Instead, a sadness had crept into her eyes, clouding the bright blue.

"Perhaps not in an observable way," she said softly. "But I'd be a psychopath if I hadn't."

She breathed deeply, looking out over the mountains, then at the keep. There was little activity at this hour, but sounds from the infirmary were a permanent feature at all hours of the day. A soft wail could be heard now, until the quiet words of a caretaker silenced it.

"Why did you come?"

"Because I heard that something I presumed dead apparently is no longer… I've seen some crazy shit, brought people back from the brink myself, but the dead should not be able to walk."

"Are you sure you killed him?"

Her eyes snapped to his, piercing. "It was not a fun fight. I made very sure we did. If he is back… something else is going on."

"Do you have any idea what?"

"Not really, except that the Wardens have been acting weird. Like, weirder than normal. With Corypheus showing up again, it might all make sense. He had some strange effects on the ones that were keeping him."

"Is Carver…?"

"He's okay." She flashed a grateful smile. "I've sent Aveline to find him. They're not with the Wardens at the moment."

"That's good… So, you want to seek them out?"

"Hm," she nodded. "One of them. Not sure what's going on, but he's hiding out in Crestwood. Perhaps he knows more."

"Alright. We can probably clear the way there for you, once we're up and running properly. It's taking a while to recover after the attack."

"Of course." She fell silent, this time observing him instead of their surroundings. Her eyes quickly flitted over his face, to his hair and down, before they rested on his face again. "How are you, Cullen?"

"Ah…" He thought a moment. "As well as can be expected?"

Hawke huffed a laugh. "Yeah… Isn't that always the thing? What happened to you… since we last saw each other?"

"I stayed in Kirkwall," he said matter-of-factly. "Sorting out the mess. We transferred the remaining mages and focused on keeping the city in order. More of the Circles began to revolt soon after… When Cassandra came to find you, I joined her cause."

"That's a very concise summary," she murmured, ignoring his accusing tone.

"What happened to you?"

"Heh…" She considered him a moment. "I travelled. Kept my head low. Hunted down some slavers with Fenris, until I heard from Varric about the red lyrium at the temple."

"So he's been in contact with you all this time?"

"Of course."

"And you never considered coming to help before now?"

"Considered it," she shrugged. "Decided against it."

"We could have used you."

"People could use me for all sorts of things in Kirkwall, Cullen," she said wryly. "Where did it get me? Or anyone, for that matter? My highlight was a fancy house to retreat to until the next shit-storm. Surely you can understand?"

As he looked at her, he began to see the signs of change he hadn't immediately noticed. Thin lines were now a permanent feature of her forehead, unlike the last time he'd seen her. They deepened with her frown. She angled her head, searching his eyes, the stars reflecting quite beautifully off of hers.

"I do. I know you never asked for any of the things that happened to you. But still…"

"What?" The corner of her mouth pulled up in a smirk. "I should have been the first in line to fix the world, like you?"

"Are you making fun of me?"

"No," she chuckled. "I think it's admirable. Not to mention pretty cute."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't think flirting is going to get you any beer."

As quickly as it had surfaced, her sadness vanished again. The faint creases around her eyes sharpened with her laugh, the sound itself lifting some of the oppressive atmosphere from the keep.

"This is terrible," she grinned. "That used to be my most effective skill."

"You charmed the Arishok into submission?"

"Of course! Varric wasn't in the romance novel business yet back then, otherwise he would have written it the way it happened."

He joined in with her laughter, though he kept his voice low. With the effects of the attack still clearly visible around them, it felt wrong to be joyful. Yet there was something liberating about sitting with her, like they'd done many years ago. It didn't matter with whom she was, it was simply the effect she had on people. He felt grateful that at least that had not changed.

"Speaking of Varric," she said eventually. "Where does he sleep?"

"Not sure. Do you want to go find him?"

"Nah, not yet. He thinks I'm arriving in the morning."

"Ah. He'll probably be in the main hall. Elsa sleeps there for the moment and he's usually with her."

"Hm, I had a feeling," she chuckled. "He appears quite taken with her. Pretty strange, he was never the religious type. What's she like?"

"What have you heard?"

"Heh… A bit." She took another sip from her mug. "But Varric finds it hard not to embellish. I know she's pretty… and that she might actually have talked her way out of the Kirkwall invasion."

"Perhaps," he said, resting his head against the stone. "She's more than that though."

"… Is she? Like what?"

"She… she's smart. Like, how she handles people. Strong too. A lot has happened since this all started, nothing she was prepared for. I mean — I guess no one is quite prepared for this, but you know…"

"Sure… What else?"

"I don't know." He laughed. "She's sweet… caring, in her way. Like, a no nonsense kind of caring. And funny, when she lets her guard down. She —"

He turned towards her, about to say more, when he caught Hawke's expression. Her eyes were big, shimmering with excitement. Colour rushed to his face and he quickly turned his attention to the cliffs.

"You wuv her," she murmured, barely containing her laughter.

"I don't! I just… She's impressive and we've been through a lot. It's only normal that —"

"Maker's ass," Hawke called out in delight. "You've slept with her!"

"Watch it!" he hissed. Two guards were standing further away. They glanced over to where they were, then turned to continue their round. Hawke chuckled lightly to herself.

"Knight-Captain," she purred. "I had no idea you were so… brazen. The Herald of Andraste, of all people."

"Oh, shut it. And it's Commander now."

"Don't get grumpy, I was just joking," she chuckled. "Falling in love at the end of the world. How romantic. I'm happy for you."

The snow below was pearly white, the stone a muted grey. The colour scheme reminded him of Elsa's outfit this afternoon, the shimmer of her hair. He didn't know what he'd expected to happen… Though he hadn't been surprised by her words, they hadn't been welcome either. They were far away from that night in Haven. It was the more responsible decision, as he could expect her to take. If she hadn't done so, he might have done it himself. Nothing of that made it hurt any less for the moment. Was it his fate that every positive thing would eventually be taken away? You'd think he'd get used to it at some point…

"Don't be," he huffed. "In keeping with the rest of my life, it's a complete mess."

She looked him over, no longer laughing.

"How do you mean?"

"It was a mistake. I don't know what came over me, it wasn't like me at all. It's just…" He groaned, heavily resting his forehead in his hand. "It's been so long since I've wanted someone in my life, and she is… I wasn't expecting it here."

"It usually happens when you don't expect it. The good ones in any case. So, what happened?"

"She called it off," Cullen shrugged, trying to maintain indifference. "If there was something to call off, I guess… I'm not sure it ever got to that point. She'll be the Inquisitor, I need to be able to advise her. It wouldn't be smart to pursue."

"Is it ever smart?" Hawke asked. "It's always easier to be alone, but most of us put up with the drama in the end… because it's still better."

"It's not just us though, is it? The world depends on our success."

"All the more reason to have someone by your side," Hawke said simply. "The more people rely on you, the lonelier your position becomes. For me it was just a city. Anyone would need someone to rely on in your situation… not just for advice."

She smiled wistfully, taking him back to that moment many years ago in the streets of Kirkwall. He'd first seen her power in action, allowing him to put together the little bits of information he hadn't been able, or wanted to since meeting her. There had been something in her eyes that night he hadn't ever been sure of how to interpret, until he saw it again now.

"Who was there for you?"

"Hm…" she said, pursing her lips. "Varric, of course. He's family. Other people came and went. Sometimes I wasn't sure if they were friends or enemies, but they had my back most of the time. In the end, Fenris was the one who always stuck around."

"You're still together?"

"On and off. He's a wild one."

"So are you."

"I suppose so," she laughed. "But… we care for each other. Took him three years to come to terms with that, so I know all about being with someone who isn't great in expressing their feelings."

"He —" He hesitated, unsure if what he wanted to ask was too personal.

"Isn't a fan of mages?" she finished for him.

"Yeah. How— how did you deal with that? If you don't mind."

"I don't mind." She thought a moment, looking up at the sky. "I tried to be respectful of it," she said slowly, her eyes narrow as she searched her memory. "He has enough reason to feel the way he does. I didn't shove his face in it, but I also never hid what I am or what I believe. I guess… I guess how we dealt with it was honesty."

"Hm…" he said, more to himself than to her. "Honesty, huh?"

Silence filled the space between them as both were lost in their own thoughts. Part of him wondered if it stretched on for too long, until he noticed a surprising lack of discomfort. Most of his conversations in the last years had been functional, ending when the important messages had been communicated. When in a position where he needed to continue talking beyond that point, he'd quickly found himself at a nerve-wracking loss for words. It had taken a while to move beyond that with Elsa, though it was hard to know if he'd ever reached a point of true comfort with her. Even if he had, it seemed to have evaporated quickly. Conversation with Hawke had never been like that, but he was still surprised to find how easily they were able to pick up where they left off. She seemed to be thinking the same, her expression one of fond familiarity when he met her gaze.

"Varric told me your Herald is a mage," she said softly. "Does that bother you?"

"No… At least, I don't think so. I think I'm less bothered by it than she is. What else did Varric tell you?"

"Not too much. Just that she hides it, and that it's complicated."

"You could say that," he sighed, rubbing his neck. "Her believes aren't unique, they're just unusual. For a mage, that is."

"How do you mean?"

"She won't use it," he shrugged. "I didn't ask further, but there was an accident when she was young. It killed her sister. Supposedly, her family made her suppress it after that."

"She won't use it?" Hawke inquired, puzzled. "Does she have that luxury? What if someone is in danger? What if she is?"

"It's not just that," he sighed. "She has little talent. I've seen them in the Circle, those who prefer to do research and stay away from spells. Even if she did want to, she couldn't."

"How does she know that?"

He looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"You say her family made her suppress it since she was young," Hawke explained. "So, if she was never taught… how does she know?"

The mage's expression did not betray much emotion, with only one eyebrow raised inquisitively. Yet something was stirring behind her blue eyes. A smouldering fire he'd only seen a few times before, whenever she saw an injustice she couldn't ignore.

"I… I don't know," he replied. "But she does not seem to think there's anything wrong with —"

"You've seen her use magic, right? Varric's last note was brief, but I understood that something happened."

"I have… Yeah. She used fire to keep herself from freezing, but she lost control of it."

"Did it look like one of those incompetent mages' spells you've seen in the Circle?"

"It…"

He paused, thinking. It was no uncommon occurrence that a mage would set things on fire, flood the library, or zap someone in their practice. It was perfectly normal for those who were learning, and it was what they spent the bulk of their time watching out for as templars. Those who did not go further into spell casting had usually been more prone to these accidents, but their efforts tended to lack the impact of those of others. On occasion they even provided a lighthearted distraction from the day-to-day routine. It made that they were not much of a risk… Worse were those whose connection to the Fade was strong, but who were easily tempted to demons or abuse. It was those that would fail their Harrowing or who would end up being made Tranquil.

Recalling Elsa's spell, he had a hard time placing her in the first category. It hadn't been a short burst, quickly lighting up before dying out or a rapidly fading glimmer. It had been vibrant, especially for someone so physically weakened. Could Hawke be on to something? If she was… What would that mean, if anything?

Hawke continued to observe him, a hint of triumph on her face.

"Something to think about." She yawned, barely covering her mouth, and downed the rest of her water. "I'll go find a quiet place to nest, until I can find Varric. He asked me to keep a low profile, what with the high concentration of templars."

"The barn is empty now," Cullen suggested, pointing at the building. "I'm staying over in that tower myself, but there's a hole in the roof."

"I appreciate the invitation, but let's not rush into anything," she winked. "I'm not a fan of sleeping with men who are actually into someone else."

His face flushed before he could stop it. "I didn't mean it like that—"

Another burst of laughter. She swung her legs off the wall and hopped down, her motions smooth and catlike.

"Glad I can still mess with you a little bit. I would be pretty sad if we'd outgrown that completely." She inclined her head. "Good night."

He watched her turn and walk away, rolling her shoulders. She looked around her as she strolled along the wall, taking in their base. There was a curiosity with which she observed her environment. No doubt she'd point out their various strategic weaknesses to him over the next few days, as she had done in Kirkwall after the invasion. It would be nice having another person around who was experienced in these matters. Only a handful of people existed who were even remotely qualified to handle current events, but she was top of the list.

"Hawke."

She turned around, eyebrows raised.

"I have missed you."

A moment of silence in which she seemed to contemplate whether he was serious. Her eyes narrowed in scrutiny until a smile slowly spread across her face.

"Thanks, Curly. I've missed you too."

He sat on the wall a while longer, watching her until she disappeared from view. A confrontation was inevitable as soon as Cassandra would learn of her arrival and Varric's deception in keeping her away. He wondered what the Herald would make of the mage. It was hard to picture two people less alike. Elsa, with her carefully crafted elegance — charming, deliberate, reserved. Hawke, who wore her heart on her sleeve — free, reckless, and explosive. Trouble was brewing, as it often did when the Champion showed up. He decided he'd stay out of all of it, drafting a plan to keep himself busy during the day. He didn't have many friends, having largely lost the few he did have over the years. As conflicted as his relationship with Hawke had been, he did consider her as such. For the moment, he would allow himself to enjoy that much at least.


	22. Lone Hunter

Elsa woke the next morning, her mind working rapidly as soon as she opened her eyes. She had worked until late the night before, claiming the new war room as her office space for the moment. They'd have to clear out the upstairs room soon to give her an appropriate residence. It could wait for now, but ideally she'd be out of the common areas by her appointment as Inquisitor.

She ruminated on the title. Traditionally, the Inquisition had been formed to protect the people against the tyranny of magic in an age when neither Chantry nor the Order existed. Considering the current state of the world, the threat of Corypheus and his army of mages, it would seem that purpose was relevant once again. Some accounts portrayed the original organisation to be as oppressive as the very thing they were fighting, indiscriminately persecuting anyone who did not agree with their ideals. Other scholars stated that this portrayal was inaccurate, a distortion of reality due to the Inquisition acquiring too many powerful enemies. Perhaps, in ages to come, there would be similar debates about her performance.

Her thoughts were disrupted by footsteps coming down the main hall. It was still early, with most people sound asleep. Elsa had planned to go upstairs before daybreak and freshen up, but she quickly realised she'd have to make an adjustment to her schedule. The Seeker strode the length of the hall, her face thunderous in a way only Cassandra's could be. At first it seemed the warrior was coming for her, only for her to abruptly halt next to Varric instead. The dwarf turned over on his bedroll, snoring and unaware of the threat that had approached. The Seeker hovered over him for a second, glaring, then grabbed his arm and yanked it up.

Varric startled awake, cursing loudly and frantically grabbing for his crossbow, until he noticed who it was that had woken him.

"Oh… shit."

"You bet," the Seeker hissed, leaning into him. "Come with me, now!"

She roughly dragged him to his feet and from the hall, Varric stumbling behind her on bare feet.

Elsa sat up on her bedroll, momentarily confused by the event. She wasn't aware of anything he could have done that would anger the Seeker in such a way… The fact that she wasn't made her stomach clench uncomfortably. Either Cassandra was overreacting, or Varric had been keeping something serious from her. The first was possible, though she'd only seen her this upset when the Seeker thought she had destroyed the Conclave. Considering that Skyhold was still standing this morning, the latter option seemed more likely… and she did not like that possibility at all.

She got up, quickly adjusting her clothing and hair, and made to follow them. It seemed like she'd lost them as she exited the keep, only for Cassandra's voice to sharply cut across the courtyard moments later. Elsa followed the racket the warrior was making into one of the empty buildings. It was one of the more intact structures in the keep, seemingly having been a blacksmith in earlier times. Elsa walked on, blinking against the darkness, only to duck out of the way when a book came hurtling down the stairwell.

"You knew where she was all along!"

"You're damned right I did!"

"You conniving little shit!"

Muffled footsteps, followed by sharper ones, and the scraping of furniture could be heard from the upper level. Evidently the dwarf was running in circles, chased by the warrior. A sudden hush made Elsa think she'd caught up with him, and possibly worse than that, until an unfamiliar voice spoke up.

"Careful there, Seeker. It's only entertaining until someone loses an eye."

The woman spoke with a noticeable Fereldan accent, somewhat posh but not overly so. Her tone was light, slightly mocking, yet it carried enough weight for the Seeker to halt her pursuit. Light footsteps echoed hollow on the floorboards above Elsa's head. She inched towards the staircase and caught a glimpse of the woman casually walking towards Varric, who had his back against the balustrade. Her hair was short and black as night, contrasting with her fair skin. She wore a combination of leather and chainmail, fur lining her shoulders and iron armour along one arm. Though Elsa couldn't see her face, her body spoke volumes. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, her hip cocked to the side as she leaned against the rail next to the dwarf. Varric relaxed visibly next to her, clearly put at ease by her silent support. Whomever wanted to get to him, had to go through her.

"We needed someone to lead the Inquisition," Cassandra argued.

"From what I hear, you found yourself a Herald. Sounds a lot better than 'apostate who kick-started the mage rebellion', if you ask me."

"Definitely more marketable," the dwarf chimed in.

"Would look great on a banner—"

"You could have been at the Conclave, Hawke! If anyone could have stopped—"

"You are assuming I would have said yes, Seeker," Hawke replied. "Not sure what about my track record put that idea in your head, to be honest. Regarding your Conclave… The odds are that I'd probably be dead by now. As you may understand, I prefer the current situation."

"I was protecting my friend," Varric added. "You people have done enough to her."

"Aw. Isn't he cute?"

Cassandra didn't answer for some time, until the heavy sound of her boots retreated to the other end of the room.

"Just… go," she said, her voice suddenly quiet. "Both of you."

Varric turned towards the staircase, motioning for Hawke to follow him. Elsa moved quickly, slinking back into the dark room. The pair did not notice her as they came down the steps, Varric thumping loudly, Hawke nearly silent next to him.

"I thought I asked you to keep a low profile," Varric complained, looking up at her.

"I was just exploring. If you didn't want me to get bored after inviting me to the middle of nowhere, you should've woken up earlier."

"Or you could have slept for once, like a normal person."

They left the blacksmith, quarrelling like an old couple. Elsa waited until she could no longer hear them before walking up the stairs. Cassandra was leaning on the window sill, staring out the window. She turned around when Elsa cleared her throat, and sighed when she saw her.

"You heard all that?" she asked.

"I did… Varric lied?"

"He did." The Seeker shook her head. "And I believed him."

"He's a natural storyteller," Elsa offered. "It's not on you."

"If only I had explained better. Told him why we needed Hawke… But I didn't."

Elsa took a deep breath, calming her nerves. Hawke had not been their first choice. That honour had been for the Hero of Ferelden, but the Champion still had a leg up on her when it came to choosing an Inquisitor. She considered whether she wanted to broach the topic, and in which way she wanted the pendulum to swing if it was indeed up for discussion. Her mind had been working overtime since her conversation with Cullen in anticipating a near future as Inquisitor. If the Champion stepped in now… what was her situation going to be then?

"You haven't announced your choice yet," she said eventually. "It's not too late."

"Oh…" said Cassandra, looking surprised. "I didn't mean… It does sound like I am complaining, doesn't it?"

"A little."

"Don't get me wrong. You heard her yourself. Even if I had found her, she might not have accepted." The Seeker walked over to her, placing a hand on Elsa's shoulder. "If she had, perhaps the Maker had not sent you to us. I have no regrets."

Elsa returned her smile, though she wished the Seeker's words would convince her more. It was unlikely the others would reconsider their decision if the Seeker did not. Yet the presence of the Champion was a factor she had not accounted for, one with potential ramifications that were impossible to predict. At least there was one upside; the woman who had been a rallying cry for mages across Thedas could hardly be more popular with the templars than she was.

Varric had not gone far. He noticed her the moment she stepped out of the blacksmith, guilt flashing across his face. Elsa watched him point at her, prompting Hawke to look over her shoulder. The mage's bright blue eyes stared straight at her, striking under her dark hair. She rose to her feet, taller than Elsa as she straightened herself up, and walked towards her, hips swaying with every step. Something that other girls at home had desperately tried to learn was something that came to the Champion with natural ease; she would draw the attention of any room she entered.

Elsa waited, letting them come to her rather than the other way around. The other woman halted in front of her, weight resting on one leg. It was a casual stance, potentially perceived as disrespectful by some people. Elsa looked her over, then at Varric, waiting for the introduction.

"Eh… Sterling," he said, clearing his throat. "I figured we could use some help with Corypheus, so I called in the help of an old friend. Meet Hawke. Champion of Kirkwall."

"Not that I use that title much anymore," Hawke said airily. "It doesn't hold much sway when you're camping in the countryside."

"Welcome to Skyhold, lady Hawke," Elsa replied, smiling gently. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

The mage barked a short laugh. "I'm not much of a lady either… Hawke is enough. Pleasure is all mine, I've heard a lot about you."

"Did you?" Elsa asked, directing her gaze to Varric. The dwarf shifted guiltily in place. "I'm flattered."

"Only good things, of course," Hawke said brightly. "Cullen's account was very complimentary."

_… What?_

Elsa stared at her, her heart strangely still. The mage continued to smile, observing her. Her expression was open, unreserved… If she had actively tried to throw her off by mentioning Cullen, she didn't show it. Either she was an expert player of the Game, or she had simply hit a nerve by accident. The fact that Elsa couldn't tell which it was only increased her reservations towards the mage.

"Ah, the Commander is too kind. I am sure I do not deserve his praise," she said politely. "I look forward to hearing what you can tell us about Corypheus, lady Hawke." She inclined her head, which the mage acknowledged with a short nod. "Unfortunately I have some business to attend for now… Varric, a word?"

He followed her as she walked towards the keep, while the mage sauntered off in the direction of the wall. Elsa halted at the steps, away from the bustle that had started up in the hall. The dwarf looked up at her with a pained expression.

"I wanted to mention it yesterday," he started. "You were busy—"

"That's the first occasion you could think of?"

"Well… No. The reason I didn't tell you—"

"I don't care. What have you been telling _her_?"

"Her?" He blinked in surprise.

"Hawke."

"I get who," he said, frowning. "What does it matter?"

"It matters," Elsa snapped, "because I trusted you, Varric. Have you been in contact this whole time?"

"I…" He sighed. "Yes… I have. But as she said, only good things."

Elsa ignored the dwarf as she stared at Hawke's figure in the distance. She had climbed the wall and met up with another person outside of the central tower. Though Elsa couldn't clearly see Cullen's expression, his stance appeared far too friendly towards the mage. She wanted to know what Varric had discussed with her, and if the Commander had been in any way a topic of conversation, when she paused. There was no way of knowing this very conversation wouldn't get back to the Champion later on.

"Sterling, I'm sorry," Varric said earnestly. "I did not tell her anything that wasn't public knowledge within the Inquisition at the time, but regardless… I should have been better."

"Yes, you should have." She looked him over, letting him squirm a little longer until she relaxed her expression. "I am a private person, Varric. If I tell you something, I need to know it doesn't spread."

"You can," he said quickly. "I promise, Sterling."

"Good… Now, I have work to do. I will talk to your friend later."

She cast a last glance at the wall, where the mage strolled alongside the Commander, pointing at various things. Elsa swallowed away the uncomfortable feeling rising in her throat and turned away, resolved to get back to her original planning.

_Great bloody start._

o - o - o

She focused on the work ahead, relentlessly working down the long list of assignments that were required to bring Skyhold up to scratch. They were progressing rapidly, more so than she had anticipated. Her days were filled with meetings as she minutely checked the execution of tasks, adjusting her schedule wherever possible. Supplies slowly started to roll in, responses to their requests from the nearest allied houses, and an increasing amount of the castle became more liveable by the day. She was happy to leave the others to their own expertise; Cullen and Cassandra on defences, Leliana to coordinate her network in providing them with eyes and ears on every major player of the Game, and Josephine managing communications and the treasury. Elsa herself made it her primary concern to see how their resources were spent. Food presented an initial problem, a pressing issue to solve with the remainder of the Order only weeks away from joining them. There were natural limitations to growing crops within the castle walls due to the climate, leading her to negotiate deals with the closest farms in the foothills. She also went out personally with the hunting party, scouting the surrounding area until they had uncovered reliable locations for elk, deer, and smaller game. The following night she made sure to assist at dinner, serving out the first meal of roasted meat that any of them had received in a long while. Rather than quickly retreating to their respective sleeping places, the people laughed and talked until long into the evening, The change in atmosphere was immediate, and exactly as she had anticipated.

As the week pressed on and Skyhold continued to take shape, Elsa focused her attention on her official appointment as Inquisitor. Lady Vivienne, ever conscientious of these things, had taken it upon herself to oversee the necessary preparations. They met in the upstairs room, now fortunately cleared of apparent vermin, several days before the planned ceremony. The mage brought a small army of seamstresses to work around Elsa, measuring, drawing, and cutting under her watchful eye.

"You've lost weight," Vivienne stated, adjusting a seam above her shoulder. "We'll need to go for a high neckline, accentuate the waist. Give this a little more body to balance you out."

The women quickly moved to make the necessary adjustments, pinning the pieces of muslin together around her body. Seemingly satisfied with the direction it was going, the mage stepped back and focused her attention on Elsa instead.

"Now, dear… How are you?"

"A little tired," Elsa admitted. "But well overall."

"It has been a busy time," Vivienne replied. "But a lot has been accomplished. I am impressed."

"That is high praise from you."

"It is deserved, dear. You are growing into the role rather well."

Vivienne smiled at her, haughty, yet not insincere. She waited until the women had finished structuring the garment, providing additional instructions where needed. As soon as they had left the room with the bundle of cloth, she motioned for Elsa to sit down in front of the dusty vanity. Her long nails, miraculously not damaged in the least by recent events, raked through her hair as she worked it into different potential styles.

"If we had more time I would bring my seamstress over from Val Royeux," she lamented. "But, alas, we will have to make due."

"I'm sure it will be adequate."

"We need to be more than adequate, darling. You will be someone to be awed, feared… aspired to." She pinned a section of hair to the side, observing the effect in the mirror. "Fortunately you are well equipped for the task."

"I will need more than looks alone, Vivienne."

"But you do, my dear. You have your archery skills, your wit, your poise. Do not underestimate such weapons in your arsenal. And of course your magic, if you choose to use it."

Elsa observed Vivienne's reflection, now draping two strands of hair to frame her face. Given how suspicious she was of mages outside the Circle and possible susceptibility to possession, she had expected her to raise the topic sooner. Now that she had however, Elsa was surprised she did not receive the same disdain as she had shown for the rebel mages.

"Unfortunately I do not have your talent, Vivienne."

"That is unfortunate, dear," she mused, braiding a section of her hair. "But not the end of the world. With fear of magic running rampant, it is more important that the people see a mage standing for what is right. They do not need to see you slinging fire for that purpose."

"Does it not concern you?"

"No, darling. You did not become possessed at the Breach, nor when Envy tried to control you. You are disciplined, that is more important than talent."

"Thank you… I thought you would disapprove of how I got there."

"Your family could provide you with proper training, unlike most who take that route. I do understand the reasoning," the mage murmured, twisting the braid and fastening it in place. "I am from the Free Marches myself, you know. It is not an environment in which mages flourish easily."

"At least not through regular means," Elsa muttered darkly.

Despite Elsa's busy schedule, the Champion of Kirkwall had remained a presence that was hard to ignore. Rather than sitting with her for breakfast, Varric tended to be gone by the time Elsa returned from her morning duties. When she would go to find him afterwards, he would usually be somewhere with Hawke instead. Elsa's gut stirred uncomfortably whenever she saw them sitting together, laughing and talking in a way that only people with extensive history can. Although he waved her over whenever he saw her, she couldn't bring herself to join them and instead excused herself under the guise of work. When the mage wasn't with Varric, she spent her time around Cullen or other people that had joined the Inquisition. On mornings she could often be seen sparring in the newly established training grounds with the Iron Bull, Blackwall, or Sera, often to the amusement of a crowd of onlookers. At other times she seemed to be trading spells with the Tevinter mage or chatting with Leliana. The mage seemed to be everything that Varric had described in his stories; brazen, charming, skilled… well-liked. And seemingly without any effort at all.

"Are you talking about the Champion?" Vivienne asked. "Does her presence here bother you?"

Elsa bit the inside of her lip. She hadn't voiced her concern to anyone, not wanting to show that weakness. Yet even despite Cassandra's reassurance, it continued to gnaw at her incessantly.

"No," she asserted, conjuring a smile, "but I am unsure what to think of her."

The mage ran her fingers through her hair, twisting its natural waves into curls. Two braids criss-crossed each other to form a crown around her head. It was adorned with small rosettes, carefully crafted from smaller strands of hair. The rest of it flowed down like a silver veil, part in front of her shoulders and part spilling down her back. Though it was only a rough version of what Madame de Fer was envisioning, it was not hard to imagine the final result. With the right garment and accessories, she would look perfect.

"My dear," she said lightly. "Look at yourself. You do not need to think anything of her at all."

A knock on the door made them both turn around. A messenger came in, carrying a long package up the steps with some difficulty.

"Lady Cassandra sends this for your consideration," he said, bowing as he held out the object. "For the ceremony."

Vivienne beckoned him closer. He placed the package on the vanity, which creaked under the weight, and unwrapped it for them. The lumpy cloth revealed a sword, larger and heavier than that of either Cassandra or Cullen. A serpent of bronze was wrapped around the handle, further adding to its heft. Elsa looked at it blankly, wondering if she could even lift it. Even if she could, it would be challenging to do so while maintaining the ethereal appearance that Vivienne had been working towards.

"What does the Seeker expect her to do with this?" the mage asked sharply. "Pull a muscle?"

"I —" the messenger stuttered, "I believe she is to lift it, my lady."

"For whatever purpose? Take it back and tell her I have never heard something so ludicrous."

He quickly bundled the sword back up and scrambled out of the room. Vivienne stared at him in annoyed astonishment, then turned back to her.

"What Cassandra brings in devotion, she lacks in tact," she huffed.

"I'll need to do something at the ceremony though," Elsa offered. "It's not much of an event if I just stand there."

"Yes, dear, but something that showcases your strengths."

The mage ran her fingers through the length of Elsa's hair once more, before placing her hands on her shoulders and squeezing them gently. Despite the appearance of a reassuring gesture, it sent a sudden chill running up her spine.

"Don't you worry," she continued, leaning in slightly. "I will take care of it."

She released her grip and turned away, leaving Elsa alone in the room. She observed her reflection, now shaped into the image the Iron Lady expected the Inquisitor to be. The mage would be a valuable ally in the time to come, although she was under no delusions as to her motivations; her loyalty would only stretch for as long as Elsa continued to move in a direction she approved of.

Elsa got up and walked to the balcony. The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows over the courtyard below. Torches were lit as she watched, small spots dotting the darkening grounds. The atmosphere shifted slowly as people stopped their daily activities and prepared for the night. Armour and weapons were put aside and the smell of food began to rise from the campfires. Her eye fell on a group of people emerging from one of the buildings. Varric was at the head of the pack, Hawke strolling beside him. The group settled down in the grounds, the mage's laughter ringing clear despite the distance. Elsa watched her get up and walk across the courtyard, intercepting the Commander as he emerged from the keep. He seemed to resist a moment, then allowed himself to be dragged to the group and sat down next to her. An all too familiar feeling sprouted in Elsa's chest. It had lost its power over time. She had turned it into a strength instead, or so she had told herself. The group below raised their mugs to a toast she couldn't hear, harshly piercing her existing convictions. Enduring solitude had been a necessity at home, but it was easier to manage when everyone around you was alone as well.

o - o - o

The people gathered in the grounds two nights later, looking expectantly at the Divine's Right and Left Hand climbing the staircase. Elsa watched them from the entrance to the keep, waiting for their signal. They halted on the landing, framed by torchlight. Cassandra spoke, not a trace of doubt in her voice as she announced their decision for a leader. Elsa stepped forward at Leliana's gesture. A murmur rippled through the crowd; Madame de Fer's work did not go unnoticed. Her dress was simple in silhouette, a structured top that hugged her waist with a broad belt and heavy skirt. Overlaying it was a long cloak that filled out her shoulders, fashioned from fine wool and a wolf pelt she had shot days before. It flowed behind her, gently kissing the ground as she descended the steps.

Elsa reached the lower landing and looked out over the people. Whatever distrust had been there before, her efforts of the past days seemed to have been effective in erasing it. She let her eyes drift over their faces, finding mostly smiles and support. Vivienne nodded approvingly, The Iron Bull lifted a hand, Blackwall saluted, Solas simply observed. Compared to his judgemental stares after Therinfal and Haven, she considered it an improvement.

Her heart skipped a beat as her eyes crossed Cullen's. They had not spoken outside of meetings, which had neither been long nor frequent. Hurt had lingered in his expressions for the first few days, but she had refused to let herself see it. It had not gone now, but a new pride shone through all the brighter. He inclined his head to her in encouragement, twisting the knot in her chest. She averted her gaze, breathing to loosen it, only to catch sight of Varric instead. He was alone, standing away from the crowd with his back against the wall. The dwarf looked her over, arms folded in front of his chest. All around her were looks of awe, pride, and elation. Yet his was one of thinly veiled concern, a mournful smile forming slowly as he looked up at her.

Elsa returned her attention to the women beside her and took the weapon Leliana was holding out. A new recurve bow crafted from white wood, not unlike the one she'd lost at Haven, but more powerful than the longbow through its design. The handle was intricately carved, featuring the symbol of the Inquisition, and adorned with black crystal. Elsa gripped it gently, allowing her hand to get used to its shape. She then picked an arrow from her quiver to lay against the shaft, feeling the balance of the weapon as she lifted it up to the torch and set the arrowhead alight. A pyre had been prepared atop the gatehouse, fashioned from broken crates, barrels and other bits of Skyhold that could no longer serve another purpose. A hush fell over the keep as Elsa looked at it, judging the distance.

"For those we've lost," she said, her voice echoing across the silent courtyard. "And to bring justice to those who would do more harm."

Cassandra called out to Josephine and Cullen. The Commander drew his sword, raising it in the air as he rallied the crowd behind her. The templars followed his example, while others cheered and applauded. Elsa readied her stance, drawing back the bowstring. The weapon was flawless, only hindered by inexperience of the wielder. She felt the curve of the wood under her palm, the line digging into the creases of her fingers. The cries and shouts from the crowd blended together into an indistinguishable hum as her vision blurred at the edges. She let the arrow fly and followed its path as it gracefully arced towards its target, a pinprick of light in the darkness. Moments later the pyre caught fire, sparks surging hungrily as they latched onto the dry wood. Elsa watched the flames rise up into the sky, their roar drowning out the noise of the party starting below.

"Though all before me is shadow," she whispered, "yet shall the Maker be my guide."

_… Will you?_


	23. Her Templar

The war room was dark when Elsa entered, per usual, ahead of her advisers. The setting sun cast long shadows over the newly crafted table. The space had been cleaned, at last, and they were once again able to properly spread out their maps and charts. Elsa paused, looking down on the continent before her. In Haven, their attention had mainly been focused on Ferelden, but now markers had been placed all over; open issues which were still in need of a decision, or on which they were waiting for a response.

She had been surprised at how smoothly her role had transitioned since she'd been appointed. In a way, it had even become easier. While she had to delicately guide the Inquisition's leadership before, taking care not to inject her opinion too forcefully, they now openly looked to her to decide. While she did find herself turning over some decisions in her head after the fact, wondering if she had made the right choice, it was not the case for most of the issues. As their supply chains began to strengthen and pilgrims started to find them in their new location, bolstering their numbers, it quickly became routine to handle the incoming requests and considerations. It was indeed not all that different from managing the estate back home; just larger in scale and with more varied concerns. Though it had not been her official task, she felt grateful for the knowledge she had picked up over the years. It came in handy in her current situation.

Certain requests were more unorthodox, and gave her some pause. Several days after her appointment, a letter had come in from an Orlesian noble, challenging Cullen to a duel. His brother had died at Therinfal, something for which the man held the Commander responsible. Elsa's initial reaction had been to reject the demand altogether, taking offence at the man's selfishness after all the Inquisition had lost recently. Josephine, however, was more compassionate towards the Vicomte. In the end, Elsa was relieved she'd followed the Ambassador's suggestion, as she usually was whenever she asked her to handle a particular concern. Leliana was continually moving pieces on the board of the Game, trying to get the most out of every situation. It was useful, to be sure, but tiresome to keep track of. Meanwhile, Cullen continued to suggest direct force wherever he could. A tempting option on more than one occasion, but she generally asked him to retain his growing number of troops for resource-based or peacekeeping missions.

There were some things, however, for which she could not rely on her advisers. One such an issue, and the most pressing one for the moment, was their only lead on Corypheus. A marker stood waiting in the location of Crestwood, a small raven perched on a pedestal. It had been there for days, but although she'd had easy excuses with Skyhold still taking shape, she could no longer ignore it now. Not only did she have to finally deal with the Champion, reports also spoke of rifts in the area. She would need to go out there herself… and she wasn't looking forward to it.

The door opened quite suddenly, though Hawke halted in the opening when she noticed there was someone already in the room.

"Am I early?"

"Not very," Elsa replied. "I expect the others any moment."

"Alright."

The mage stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind her. She strolled along, casually taking in the room around her. Whereas most other mages were careful to contain their mana, only summoning it when they were anticipating the casting of a spell, the Champion did no such thing. The Veil rippled softly with her motions, like the surface of a pond disturbed by drops of morning dew. Elsa could feel the disturbance resonating on her skin; a shifting in the air, near imperceptible to those who weren't paying attention.

It was more apparent at other times, most noticeably when the mage sparred in the training grounds. Many of the templars had challenged her since her arrival. The first match had been born from hostility, initiated by her when she grew tired of the backhanded insults being thrown her way. She had started the fight armed with her staff, playing with the recruit to draw out his attacks, like a hunter studies prey. At some point he had managed to disarm her, although Elsa doubted it had been by accident. She'd heard Varric chuckle as the Champion leapt away, straightening herself up.

What followed next, was something she'd never seen any mage, not even the crazed rebels in the Hinterlands, do before. Unarmed, she danced through the ring as she twisted the Veil to her will. Her attacks had been more focused when she used the weapon, but there was a viciousness to her ability that only fully manifested itself once she had abandoned it. Spinning and leaping, engulfed in the elements that contorted at her command, she unleashed an assault on the warrior that made him stagger back and seemingly forget all his training. With it, she'd made short work of the offender, who threw his hands up in surrender once she'd forced him to the ground. More had tried to take her on since then, but it had been out of a sense of competition rather than vengeance for her past. Few stood much of a chance against the mage. There were some that caused her to cast aside her staff as well, but none managed to effectively counter her unorthodox style once she did.

The Champion let out a long sigh to signal her boredom. Elsa ignored it, focusing on the papers in front of her, until the mage spoke.

"Is there a reason these aren't on?"

She pointed at the torches, which were still unlit.

"None in particular," Elsa said, not looking up. "Cullen usually lights them when he comes in. I don't really need the light."

"Oh, okay." She ambled over to the table, looking with interest at the map. "You sure? It's a bit dank in here."

"Feel free to light them, lady Hawke, if it disturbs you."

The mage smirked at her, then turned around with a sweep. One by one, in rapid succession, the torches surged to life. At first they burned hotly, crackling loudly in the silent room, before the flames settled down to regular size. She gracefully spun back towards her, lighting the candles around the table with a carefree flick from her finger.

"How's that?"

"Magnificent."

Hawke continued to look at her, challenging her with her smile, until the door opening again drew her attention away.

"Hey, Curly."

Cullen entered with his usual armful of papers, momentarily confused as he looked at the mage.

"I didn't know you were joining."

"I asked her to," Elsa explained.

"Well, she asked Varric to ask me," Hawke added.

"We need to discuss Corypheus," Elsa continued, throwing her a look. "And how he isn't dead."

Hawke snorted a laugh, but no longer spoke. Instead she edged up to Cullen, now placing his own paperwork on the table, and looked over his shoulder as he sorted the reports.

"We can run another trial for that," she murmured, pointing at one as he pulled it from the pile. "I think there might still be a possibility on the northern perimeter."

One of her activities since arrival had been to test their defences, arranging mock-attacks — utilising Dorian, Solas and the handful of other mages they had among their ranks — to test the keep for potential weaknesses. It allowed the templars to get familiar with the castle and try out possible defence strategies against a magic assault. Cullen had been visibly pleased as he reported on the dry runs, undoubtedly out of eagerness to prevent another disastrous encounter like Haven.

"It's quite a distance," he replied in a low voice. "Can you even reach that far?"

"I can," she said self-assuredly. "The height difference gives the other side the advantage. Look, you can see it from here."

Cullen followed her as she walked over to the window. Elsa fought the annoyance bubbling in her stomach as they stood behind her, discussing the mountain ridge on the other side of the valley. To her relief the door opened again soon after, letting in the rest of the leadership.

Hawke was quiet during the meeting, sitting herself on one of the benches as they discussed the necessary matters. It was only when they turned their attention to Corypheus that she took a position at the table, arms casually crossed in front of her.

"Something was seriously messed up about him," she told them, recounting her encounter with the creature. "He rambled about entering the Golden City, and demanded everyone bow to him the moment he woke."

"He hasn't changed much then," Elsa added, remembering her own meeting with him. "He claimed to have entered the Fade, seeing the Maker's throne empty. Our lives did not even seem worthy of consideration to him."

"A disturbing thought," Josephine said quietly.

"He won't stop at anything," Hawke asserted. "What we need to do is figure out how to kill him for good."

"How does your Warden contact factor into that?" Cullen asked her.

"He had a weird effect on the ones that were there." Her expression darkened as she turned her attention to the token marking Crestwood. "My friend has been investigating corruption in their ranks. Now that they vanished, it might all be related. Perhaps Corypheus uses the taint somehow, allowing him to manipulate them." She paused, slowly tapping the table with her finger. "Maybe it gives him other powers too."

There was silence for a moment as everyone ruminated on the information. Elsa swallowed against her nerves, volatile as they remained since Haven. During the day she kept herself busy enough. At night it was not so easy, the thought of Corypheus soon surfacing despite her attempts to keep it away. _One step at a time_, she told herself. It was all she could do, for allowing herself to go down a path of considering she'd need to vanquish an undying foe was too overwhelming.

"I received another message from Harding," Leliana began, searching among the papers. "A rift has appeared within the lake. Since then… corpses have been attacking the village."

Elsa looked at her. "Corpses?"

"Yes," Leliana replied. "The location was the sight of a flood during the Blight. Unfortunately it is currently blocking access to the location of the Warden. Likely, spirits that are drawn through the rift are taking control of the people that drowned."

"Oh," Hawke muttered. "Fun."

"I can send men with you," Cullen offered. "Once the next group returns from their resource run, they can move there to help clear the way."

Elsa bit the inside of her lip, considering. They didn't have that many troops yet and whatever they had was currently occupied in other locations. It'd be a week at least until some would be available, and their efforts were perhaps better spent elsewhere… but it could be worth the wait. A lake of corpses did not sound appealing.

"No offence, Commander," the Champion cut in, "but it'll be faster with a small group. Give me another mage and someone who can hit things with a stick, and Varric and I will be on our way."

"You realise I will be coming along, I hope?" Elsa said sharply. "Or can you manage the rift on your own?"

The mage's eyes rested on her, no longer playfully teasing like they'd been since her arrival. Instead she observed her with an utmost seriousness, evaluating her like a horse at the races.

"Of course not, Herald," she said slowly. "But I'm pretty good at killing things… Assuming they stay dead, which, in my defence, is most of the time. I can handle your security well enough, with a team to back me up."

"The Inquisitor is a skilled archer," Josephine informed her, helpfully.

"And that will be a valuable addition, I'm sure," Hawke said laconically, "but I have my own way of doing things. If our goal is to close that rift and reach my Warden contact, then I suggest you rely on my expertise and let me handle our approach in a way that brings the Inquisitor to where she needs to be in the quickest and safest manner."

"Who would you want to take?" Cullen asked her.

"That Dorian is fun. And the big horny guy."

"Does that work for you?" he asked, turning towards Elsa.

She stared at him, at a loss for words. Over time she thought he'd gotten more capable of detecting the kind of veiled insult the mage just levelled at her, but it seemed to have gone over his head. He clearly saw no issue with her plan, fully trusting Hawke in her judgement and ability to make true on her declarations.

"I'd prefer to take Cassandra."

Hawke snorted, rolling her eyes. "The Seeker isn't my biggest fan right now, nor Varric's. Unless you want to spend the whole way there in uncomfortable silence —" She stopped talking when she caught Leliana's eye. Something passed between them briefly, a silent understanding too quick to catch. "Of course," she sighed, returning her attention to Elsa, "if you want to take her, it's fine. Inquisitor."

"It'll be six of us then," Elsa stated. "We'll leave the day after tomorrow."

The mage gave a curtly nod, raising her eyebrows before she swept from the room. The others began to gather their belongings to follow her example. Elsa paused, considering. There was another matter that she had to decide on, one that had occupied her more and more since her appointment. It wasn't anything her advisers could take off her hands, not this time. She could simply do it, make a choice and stick with it, but whenever she had tried, she ended up second-guessing herself soon after.

She looked at Cullen, who was trying to find his reports among the others on the table and sort them into a pile to take with him. Elsa took a deep breath, then made up her mind.

"Commander. I'd like your council on something else, if you have a moment longer."

Cullen looked up, surprised, and put his paperwork back on the table. He rested his hands on the end of his sword, waiting patiently until she would start speaking. Elsa steeled herself for a moment, as she needed to do whenever she found herself alone with him. The evidence of their time together had slowly faded from his expressions, showing less and less with each meeting. Unfortunately for her, it didn't change the fact that her body still reacted to every smile and minor attention he sent her way.

"There is the matter of Knight-Captain Denam," she said, hoping the topic would soon quiet the flutters in her stomach.

Cullen's expression darkened instantly, not unlike her own mood when she thought of the prisoner they'd dragged with them from Haven. She'd felt the urge to leave him behind more than once on their trek through the mountains. At times his safety had been far from guaranteed — whenever he was given a share during mealtimes, he had pulled even more angry glares from the templars than she had. In Skyhold he had quickly been tossed in the nearest thing resembling a cell, and largely forgotten about for some time.

"It is your right as Inquisitor to pass judgement on the criminals we capture," Cullen said. "If you are asking my opinion, there isn't a punishment severe enough to compensate for the acts he committed. I knew some of those men… All the evidence we found proves that Denam knew exactly what he was doing in corrupting them."

"We are in agreement on the severity of his crimes," Elsa said contemplatively. "What I would like to get your opinion on… is a suitable punishment."

He frowned, amber eyes narrowing.

"Is there a protocol?" she asked. "Does the Order execute people?"

Cullen thought, crossing his arms before him. "It executes mages, of course," he said slowly, resting his hand against his chin. "When they use blood magic or are at serious risk of possession, like with a failed Harrowing. During my time, there was never an offence committed by a templar so egregious that execution was warranted."

"Some were expelled from the Order, I imagine?"

"If the offence was serious enough."

"Where they would end up delirious on the streets due to lyrium withdrawal."

"… In most cases. Yes."

Elsa nodded, and rested her hands on the table.

"Of course the guard executes criminals," Cullen continued. "By hanging, at least in Kirkwall."

"Do you think execution is warranted here?"

Cullen thought a moment, though his eyes didn't betray much deliberation. "… I would support it."

"Very well… Then, who should enact the verdict?"

"Well —"

He paused, suddenly realising what she was getting at. They had no appointed executioner, in part, she imagined, because they hadn't needed one before. It wasn't a reality any of them had had to deal with up until now. She pushed away from the table with a sigh, turning towards the window. The sun had largely sunk behind the mountains, casting the surrounding cliffs in a deepest blue. A bright orange horizon set the skyline on fire, sharply contrasting with the shadowy snow.

"My brother executed someone once," she said, watching the darkening sky. "One of his recruits. He went berserk, killed some mages without cause."

Cullen moved past the table, the metal plating softly chafing over his leathers. He stood beside her, waiting for her to continue.

"Hershel," she clarified. "He's Knight-Commander in Ostwick."

"I remember."

"He said that… that the one who passes the sentence should be the one to carry it out."

Stars started to show themselves, carefully surfacing out from the twilight as the day slowly sunk into the night. Elsa shivered. The heat quickly began to leave the large room. With its high ceilings, the torches did little to retain the slight warmth that had crept into the stone over the course of the day. Soon she would find one of the fires to sit by, before wrapping herself in furs for the night.

Cullen's hand left his side, hanging suspended between them for a moment, until he touched her arm. Elsa glanced over, finding his eyes full of concern. She breathed sharply, and reached up to stroke back a lock of hair. He removed his hand when she did, awkwardly retreating it back to his sword.

"You said we're doing this together," she said, feigning a laugh. "Is this what you had in mind?"

"Well, not necessarily this topic…" Cullen answered, smiling softly. "But I am glad you are asking my advice."

"So… what do you think?"

"I… don't disagree with your brother's words," he sighed. "But you do not need to do that to yourself."

"What kind of leader will I be, if I don't?"

At first she'd kept count. The number of deaths by her hand had added up slowly, but with repeated trips to the Hinterlands it had soon increased to a point where she could no longer keep up. Her only solace, thin as it was, was that each instance had been one of self-defence. Killing an unarmed man in cold blood, no matter how serious his crimes, was a different story.

"Does it get any easier?"

"… Killing?"

She nodded.

Cullen's frown deepened as he looked out the window. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded far away. "As templars, we need to be able to act when a situation arises. Although we know the mages under our watch, we can't hesitate when one of them becomes corrupt." His eyes searched the sky, lingering on the rocky outcrop that Hawke had pointed out to him before. "It's a matter of survival, but… I carry their deaths with me. And I will do so for the rest of my life."

He continued to stare in the distance, seemingly lost in thoughts. Then, quite suddenly, he looked back at her, as if he had just remembered she was there.

"That is probably not what you want to hear right now."

"I asked. I wouldn't want an untruthful answer."

"I know, but… Forgive me, everything has happened so fast. Therinfal, and then Haven. Back then you were…" He sighed. "How are you coping?"

"I… don't know. When I think back on it, it's almost like it happened to somebody else. Like… I was acting outside of my own control." She looked at her hands, memories of her bow and arrow flashing in the back of her mind, shattering lyrium and sprouting blood. "But I know I wasn't… I can see their faces before I fall asleep, and I know it was my hand that ended their life."

The Commander's expression remained serious, only the flicker behind his eyes betraying his unrest. She startled, stepping back when he suddenly reached for his sword and unsheathed it. The blade gleamed, catching the last rays of sunlight when he brought it down and planted it in front of him as he knelt before her.

"Cullen…"

"When Cassandra recruited me, I swore myself to the Inquisition." His head was bowed, as in prayer. His voice, full of conviction, resonated deeply in the empty hall. "Now I follow you. Allow me to be your sword — to carry out the sentence in your stead."

Elsa stared at him, his blond crown shimmering in the fading sun. _Your templar…_ It had been months since Chancellor Roderick spat those words at them. She had not registered them much at the time, but they came rushing back like a tidal wave. Her brothers would lay down their lives for the Order, acting out whatever deed necessary in its service without question. If that had included destroying her, they would not have thought twice to do it. The man before her was no different, except that he had decided her worthy of his devotion.

She reached out her hand. His hair was soft under her fingertips. She let them drag through the strands, barely touching. The Commander remained still, his shoulders rising with his breath. Her heart ached like it had done in the Chantry, where he'd looked at her with the same unflinching loyalty before accepting her in his embrace.

_Enough…_

"Rise, Cullen. Please."

Cullen looked up, then pushed down on his sword. He straightened himself up, both hands on the weapon's handle as he retained it pointing at the floor. His expression was questioning, waiting for her word.

"I will sentence him tomorrow," Elsa said, "so it is done before I leave for Crestwood."

"As you wish. I will see to erecting a gallows."

"No." She shook her head. "I do not want something like that within these walls."

"What do you suggest?"

"Outside the keep, on the opposing cliff." She gestured to the stretch of rock across the chasm. "It is visible from the walls, large enough to hold those who want to be closer. I will do it there… it will be cleaner."

"You will?" he asked, his hands tightening around his weapon. "Inquisitor, I can —"

"I do not wish to put that on you, Commander," she said decisively. "Thank you… Sincerely. But that is my decision."

Cullen hesitated a moment longer, then nodded in acknowledgement. He sheathed his sword and took his leave with a short bow, leaving his papers on the table as he made his way out of the room.

o - o - o

Elsa left the keep the following morning on horseback, leading a small caravan towards their destination. Cullen rode behind her, their prisoner stumbling after him in chains. Some others had joined them, but the majority of their entourage was made up by the templars, solemnly marching up the mountain to witness their former captain's fate. People started to line up along the wall when they reached the stretch of rock, where Cullen led the man forward towards the cliff. The only preparation that had been needed was a metal hook, hammered straight into the stone, to which he attached Denam's binds.

She retrieved an arrow from her quiver and checked it. The head was broad, with four sharp blades extending in a cross. They were used for hunting large game, easily rending flesh and bone. She held the shaft up to her eye, checking its straightness, and let her finger graze across the fletching.

After years of training, on her twelfth birthday, she'd been allowed on her first hunt with a hand-me-down bow from one of her brothers. She spent hours tracking various animals, losing their tracks repeatedly, until she finally had her chance. Too excited, too eager to prove herself, she had released the arrow. The rabbit lay on the ground, nose twitching with its rapid breath and eyes staring wide. It flailed with its paws, trying to get away, but tipped over as its hind legs refused to cooperate. Her arrow stuck out from its back; it had severed a nerve, but would not kill it for hours to come.

She had sat next to the critter, petting its head in an attempt to comfort it. Minutes ticked by in which she prolonged its suffering, while she tried to muster the courage for what she knew needed to be done. Tears ran down her face as she finally held it by the neck, lifted its head, and twisted. It twitched for a few long seconds… then went limp in her hands. Since then, she had never fired a shot unless she was sure of her target.

Elsa took her bow and loaded the arrow. Denam spoke his last words, protesting his fate. She looked him over, imagining his vital points much like how she would do with those of a deer.

_Clean shot to the heart, shattering the rib cage._

_Death within seconds._

The Knight-Captain stumbled as the arrow pierced his chest. He stood still for a moment, hovering between life and death. Then he fell backwards, the sound of his chains echoing within the chasm as he disappeared off the edge of the cliff.


	24. Past and Present

The sun was starting to set, further limiting the light filtering into the tower Cullen had claimed as his office. He rubbed his hands together, fighting the stiffness that had settled in his fingers. He curled and flexed them, trying to loosen them before picking up his quill again. He wrote two shaky words, until it slipped and dropped on the table. The ink spilled, leaving a large stain on the report he'd been trying to write for the last hour.

He rested his hands on the table, forcing himself to breathe. The walls appeared to shrink around him with the darkening of the shadows, slowly inching closer as he fought the shivers in his body. He hadn't slept the night before. By now, it had become a reliable precursor for a bad day. The morning had been manageable, riding out of the keep for Denam's sentencing, but it had gradually worsened the moment he arrived back in Skyhold. He'd shifted his schedule, focusing on outdoor tasks in open spaces, such as overseeing training and construction efforts, but it was only so long until he had to make his other rounds. They took him into the lower levels of the castle, where the hallways suffocated him with their low ceilings and musky smell. Eventually he had little choice but to retreat to his tower and deal with the waiting paperwork, knowing full well that every word would take him infinitely longer now than it did on a better day.

He groaned in frustration, casting a glance at the chest in the corner of the room. It was lurking within, taunting him to take it out. He cursed under his breath, getting up for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The philter beckoned him as he walked past, until he slammed the door shut behind him. His chest was heaving, his brow beaded with sweat as he leaned on the wall. Slowly, under the open sky, the panic subsided, even as the cold further crept under his skin. He wrapped his arms around him, attempting to warm himself as he hid the shaking of his hands.

_What if it gets worse?_

It was the worst thought he could think of, and the one he tried hardest to keep at bay. But it was the one that surfaced increasingly often, especially whenever he once again lay awake at night. His anxiety to avoid a day such as this one increased with every second that he stayed awake, while he increasingly tried to will himself to sleep. It only made drifting off more unlikely, further adding to the anticipation of dreams he knew were waiting for him. He'd been surprisingly okay since Therinfal, and even after Haven — perhaps his mind had been too exhausted, his body too occupied with survival to notice. But here in Skyhold, the safest place they could arguably be, his memories had soon caught up with him again.

With the tremors slowly dissipating, he took a deep breath, followed by another. He was chilled to his core, his hands feeling as if they'd frozen solid. Writing was not much of an option today, he resigned himself to that. Perhaps he could read instead. With some luck, if he managed to sleep tonight, he could write the reports he needed to early in the morning.

He'd barely made it back to his desk again, trying to think of a strategy to finish his tasks for the day, when the door flew open.

"Hey, Curly. Ready for the game?"

Cullen looked up, annoyance rising in his chest like an angry snake. Varric stood in the door, a deck of cards flitting from one hand to the other,

"Not today," he said gruffly, crumpling up the paper he'd ruined before and tossing it into the waste basket.

"Now, that would be convincing," the dwarf smirked, "were it not that you've said that every other day we came to get you."

"I'm serious this time." His hand was shaking as he reached for the stack of reports. He balled his fist to hide it, grinding his knuckles on the table. "Just leave. Now."

"What's the holdup?"

Hawke appeared next to Varric, casually leaning herself against the door frame. She looked from him, to the dwarf, and back, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

"He doesn't want to."

"Again?"

They'd gotten into the habit of finding him at the end of the day. He'd been grateful for it in most cases, requiring less convincing with each instance. A drink, a game of cards, listening to stories he hadn't yet heard from their time in Kirkwall or afterwards. Even if he'd spent a large part of the day with her — discussing the keep, defence strategies, and Corypheus — he didn't tire of her company. She and Varric easily managed to get a group together each night, reinstating some of the camaraderie that had been present at Haven before the invasion of Orlesian nobles and everything else that followed. It was enough to make those events seems like a bad dream, something that happened once upon a time rather than weeks ago, and it provided a welcome distraction from other thoughts he'd rather avoid.

Now, however, the shadows were creeping on their faces, morphing their features within the corners of his eyes. A drop of cold sweat ran down his spine, prickling his skin like a thousand needles. He shuddered involuntarily, and dug his nails into the table.

"Get out," he snapped. "I mean it."

Varric looked at Hawke, whose smile had vanished off her face. She looked him over, then leaned down towards Varric and told him something Cullen couldn't hear. The dwarf slapped a hand on her shoulder and turned around, cards rustling in his hands as he left the room. Hawke watched him go, then returned her attention to him. Her head was angled as she observed him, like a curious animal.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he growled, refocusing on the paperwork. "Busy."

"You've been busy since I got here," she said, strolling towards him. "You weren't a prick before."

"I'm… Forgive me, I just —"

She grabbed his hand, firmly interlocking her fingers with his. Hers was warm, burning through the leather of his glove. It flooded up his arm and into his body, chasing away the chill from his bones. He stared at her, her face now only inches away from his. The shadows lifted from her features, only her smile remaining.

"What… are you doing?"

"Don't worry about it," she said easily. "Just come with already. Take a break."

He sighed deeply, relishing the sudden lightness in his chest, the clarity in his head. She synced her breath with his, her grin broadening as she witnessed the effect she had on his face. It was magic, undoubtedly, something which would give him pause in any other situation. But he felt better than he had in some time, relief drowning out his concerns… it was hard to ask her to stop.

"What is that?" he asked again. "Healing?"

"Not really," she murmured. "Something simpler. Nothing that a couple of beers wouldn't be able to accomplish too. Are you coming yet?"

"…I don't know," he sighed. "I have a lot to do."

"So do I, I'm leaving in the morning," she pouted. "You're wasting my precious time, playing hard to get."

"You'll be back soon enough. It's not that far."

"You don't know that! We're going to the Lake of the Damned!" Her eyes glimmered with excitement. "We could be dead tomorrow!"

"How? Will you trip on your way down the mountain?"

"It could happen," Hawke chuckled. "Come on," she murmured, playfully tugging on his arm. "You know it'll be fun."

He glanced at the reports on the table, and Hawke flashed a knowing smirk. "One drink," he said half-heartedly, as she pulled him towards the door. It was pointless; they both knew she'd already won.

Alcohol had been one of the first supplies to be arranged, not long after food and shelter had been sorted. Even if it had not been the main reason for the improved mood in Skyhold, it certainly was high on the list. Although the furniture in the newly established Herald's Rest still largely existed out of overturned barrels and crates, it was full of people each night. In its current state, it was not unlike the shabby interior of the Hanged Man.

He'd joined his colleagues there after he got transferred, though it had been out of a yearning for normalcy rather than enjoyment. They had talked behind his back when he first arrived, commenting on his nightly muttering and speculating about his past, but they had not been unfriendly. He sat with them, observing their banter and discussions — present, but never a part of them. After what he'd been through, he didn't even know how to begin in closing that distance. Instead, he replied to their comments, smiled at their jokes, and shared their drinks; pretending to be who he once was, while only becoming more aware of the hollowness in his chest with each passing day.

One night, as he vaguely listened to one of his brother's stories, his attention had been drawn to the other end of the room. Her voice carried across the din, the brightness of her laughter seemingly out of place in the shady surroundings. She turned her head towards the dwarf standing beside her, handing him a drink. After her voice, her eyes had been the second thing to strike him, their colour like sapphires. They would appear in his dreams for years to come.

"Who is that?" he'd asked the recruit next to him.

His sudden involvement drew the attention of several others at the table. "So Cullen _does_ have an interest in the ladies?" one of them called out, "I never thought I'd see the day! What will the world come to next?" Whistles and hoots sounded, while some of his colleagues banged their mugs on the table, laughing loudly.

"Maker's breath," Cullen sighed, turning red. "Cut it out."

"Hawke!"

She turned around at the sound of her name and smiled when she saw from which table it had come. Drink in hand, she weaved her way towards them through the crowd, eventually coming to a halt at the head of the table.

"Evenin', boys. How are you this fine night?"

"Much better now, birdie," one of them said, slurring his words. He reached out to her, wrapping his arm around her waist to draw her closer. She let her hips sway towards him, though she did not lean in further. Instead she looked him over with a sceptical smile, eyebrows rising a notch. "Why don't you join us?" the man breathed, pressing his face against her side. "We'll show you a good time."

"You do make a very compelling offer, serah," she said in a sultry voice. "If only you'd asked me three pints ago. You might've actually been able to keep up with me."

More hoots and jeers, to Cullen's relief no longer directed at him. She gently dislodged herself from the drunken templar in the consternation, and let her eyes sweep the group. They landed on him, nailing him to the bench with their piercing gaze.

"I don't know this one," she said, taking a sip from her drink.

"This is Cullen." Someone slapped him hard on the shoulder, causing his beer to spill over the side of his mug. "Got transferred here a while back."

"Nice to meet you, Cullen."

"Ah… N—nice to meet you."

A spark of recognition lit up her face. "Fereldan, are you?"

"Yes…. eh, from near Honnleath."

She'd walked over, letting her hand trail the shoulders of some of his colleagues as she passed them by, and squeezed herself in beside him. He flushed as her arm pressed against his, but he sat too firmly wedged between her and his neighbour to avoid it. She held out her mug for a toast and he quickly picked up his own.

"Here's to surviving the Blight," she said, pressing her drink against his. "May the best of your todays be the worst of your tomorrows."

It had been the first of more nights, where she would single him out from the group of templars and speak with him like he was the only person in the world. After the night where he'd uncovered her true identity, it had become a much rarer occurance. Now, she dragged him behind her into Skyhold's new tavern, looking back over her shoulder with the same carefree smile from back then. Like in Lowtown, she and Varric had quickly become a permanent fixture of the bar, generally claiming the same table — an old door balanced on two saw horses — and a couple of logs for seats. The dwarf was there as they entered, dealing the first hand of cards to their newly assembled companions. Her group's reputation in Kirkwall had been that of a band of misfits, skilled and strong-willed in their own ways, yet somehow working together. That her preference here had gone to a flamboyant Tevinter mage and the only Qunari in their ranks, had not surprised him in the least. Once they would leave the following day, he didn't imagine he'd spend much time in the bar anymore. For the moment, however, it wasn't a bad way to spend a couple of hours.

"Commander!" Dorian called when he sat down. "I have made a surprising discovery today that I think you will appreciate."

"I don't really appreciate surprises," Cullen answered, picking up the cards Varric had tossed his way, "so that seems unlikely."

"So serious," the mage sighed, rolling his eyes. "Here."

He conjured something from seemingly nowhere and flicked it in his direction. Cullen caught it in one hand and turned it over. It was a small horse, intricately carved.

"Another chess piece?"

"A whole set," Dorian exclaimed. "In the old library. You mentioned you play?"

"I used to." He smiled, turning over the piece in his hand. "I'm not sure how good I still am."

It had been years, before he ever left home to join the Order. Mia had been as smug as ever when she won their last game. A small twinge jerked in his chest at the thought of her… Perhaps, one of these days, he could muster up the courage to write her again.

"We should play a game sometime," the mage said as Cullen looked back up. He was observing him closely, moustache curving with his smile. "Whip you back into shape."

Cullen cleared his throat, averting his eyes. A familiar itch tickled the back of his neck, only to be squashed when something soft pushed him forward. Hawke had appeared behind him, reaching over his shoulders to plant two drinks on the table in front of him.

"Whip him on your own time, you flirt," she laughed, protectively wrapping her arms around Cullen and resting her chin on top of his head. "He's all mine tonight."

"Dear Champion, have you never heard of sharing?"

"Both of you, lay off him," Varric said casually. "He looks about ready to sink into the floor. I can't take his money if you scare him away."

Hawke sat down beside him, continuing her banter with the other mage. They kept it up for most of the evening as the game unfolded before them, more an excuse for a group of people to spend time together than a serious competition. The bets were small, though this did not keep Varric from slowly emptying out their coin purses, nor Dorian from trying to pressure them into betting items of clothing instead. The beer slowly settled Cullen's nerves, while the warmth of Hawke leaning against him continued to drive away his chills. A temporary measure, he knew, but a welcome one nonetheless.

o - o - o

He walked back to his tower some hours later, swaying slightly on his feet, and lingered on the walls before going inside. It was one of the better rooms in the keep, with its high position and multiple doors. Yet the windows were small, not allowing much of a view of the outside. A boon for defence purposes, of course, but far from ideal for a person who grew anxious in closed spaces.

It hadn't taken him long to accept Cassandra's offer to join the Inquisition, though the thought of returning to Ferelden had given him pause. He'd never intended to go back, nor had he felt any inclination to make the trip across the Waking Sea again. It had been agony many years ago, sea sickness and paranoia plaguing him whenever he had tried to sleep in the cramped crew quarters. He'd ended up spending most of his time on deck, swaying on his legs from exhaustion by the time they reached Kirkwall. It had not been as bad several months ago, when he made the trip again with the Divine's Hands and Varric. Though he didn't like to admit it, the dwarf's attempts at conversation and card games had helped considerably in making it through.

His hands were unsteady as he climbed the ladder to the loft, but he breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the landing. The moonlight filtered in through the broken roof, white-blue rays shining onto the mattress on the floor. He would arrange a bed, one of these days, but he'd left the ceiling off of any to-do lists. Having claimed it as his sleeping quarters, it wouldn't be of anyone's concern anytime soon. After spending years in the oppressive Gallows, he was in no hurry to fix it himself.

He removed his gear, struggling slightly with the straps, and habitually checked the components for wear and tear. One of the straps felt a little stiff, so he grabbed some oil and a rag to clean it. Blade, knife, pauldrons, breastplate, doublet… One by one, the pieces ended up back in their place, a ritual he had performed more times than he could count. He paused as he held the last part, its chafed metal dully reflecting the moon above him. He traced the claw mark with his finger, feeling it cut across the embossed shapes of the flaming sword.

_Not very knightly to miss a spot, serah._

He lay back on the mattress, holding the bracer in his hands as he let his thoughts wander to Elsa. She had been so calm this morning, serene even, as she picked an arrow from her quiver and informed Denam of his fate. The templars had thanked her afterwards, even some of the ones he'd thought might cause trouble since Haven. She had received their gratitude graciously, but excused herself soon after. She undoubtedly had work to finish before her trip, but there had been something in her manners that had caught his attention. A reservation, something that she was holding back. It had been there at the start, resurfacing stronger after Envy invaded her mind. He'd thought it gone the day before, when he spoke to her in the war room, but he'd been mistaken. There had been a moment, where she talked in a way she had done before everything had gone terribly wrong, only to shut herself off immediately once more. Though she had seemed alright this morning, thinking of the ramifications Denam's execution might be having on her behind the calm exterior made his stomach turn. He wished she'd opened up to him, accepted his offer, but it became increasingly clear that time was done. The last time she had relented the facade, however briefly, had been when they…

Even if it complicated things, he couldn't bring himself to regret that it had happened. She had been hesitant, careful. Though he did not have much experience to rely on, he prayed he'd done alright in taking the lead. It was a blur to think back upon, though some details stood out clear as crystal. The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth… the coolness of her skin. He had felt like he was burning, weeks of anticipation finally released as he was allowed to touch, stroke, hold her. She, on the other hand, had remained cool under his touch even as sweat pearled on their entangled bodies.

A cool wind blew in, rustling the leaves of the tree growing out of the stone. The faint buzz of the beer dampened the voices lingering in the back of his mind. He could feel her body against his own, softer than the finest silk. Her skin quivered as he ran his hands up her sides and let his fingers trail towards her back. She leaned her head back, her hair spilling over his hands like a waterfall. Her breath came in short gasps as he kissed her neck, her skin slightly salty under his tongue.

"Cullen…"

He pulled back, thoughts hazy with her scent. She was looking at him through her lashes, her lips slightly parted. Her eyes shimmered in the moonlight, their colour deeper than the purest amethyst.

"Kiss me," she whispered, leaning in.

His body was frozen, his mind numb. She curved against him, no longer careful, but pressing for more. Her pupils narrowed, shrinking to slits within the purple irises. His instincts kicked in, urging him to action. He shoved her away, dispelling the last of her disguise. Silver hair vanished like smoke, making room for purple flames and scaly skin. Her tail struck out from behind her, a whip directing a performance animal. He tried to step back, searching for his weapon, only to feel the barrier close around him. The shadows in the loft bubbled like boiling tar, spitting forth the remnants of his brethren. Their faces were unrecognisable, beaten to a bloody pulp, their limbs stuck out at awkward angles. Cullen's breath climbed into his chest, panicked gasps against the stale air within the cage. He sank to his knees, gripping his head with both of his hands.

"No… I made it out."

"Out where?" Her voice was ethereal, reverberating to his core as if it rang from inside him. "We're all in here with you."

"I survived! Leave me!"

Other shapes surfaced from the shadows, mages he once knew transformed by madness. They closed in on him, eyes bulging from their warped faces, feet dragging across the ground. They lingered at the borders of his confinement, shuffling to the drum of the screams from the Harrowing chamber. He shut his eyes tightly, furiously reciting whatever words of the Chant came to him as he attempted to drown out the visions.

"I can make it disappear," she sighed. He could feel the air move beside him, her lips nearly touching his ear. "I can make you happy instead."

"No! It's not real."

"… Are you sure? Look at me, Cullen."

She sat before him, his blanket draped over her legs. Fair skin, delicate hands folded in her lap. Her hair lay over her shoulders, a veil that followed the curve of her breasts. His heart stilled under her gaze, her eyes once again their mesmerising grey. She leaned forward, reaching out to touch his cheek.

He grabbed her wrist before it reached his face. "You don't want to be with me," he said, his voice shaking. "This isn't real. You made your choice."

"I was just afraid —"

"No!"

He lashed out, pushing back her arm as his other hand reached for his dagger. It flashed through the air, a guttural noise tearing through the silence as metal struck flesh. Tears welled behind his eyes as he looked at her, her face disbelieving and confused. Her nails scratched at her neck as her blood spilled down the front of her body.

"… Cu—llen."

He scrambled back against his cage, watching her life drain with every beat of her heart. She lost her balance, slowly slumping to her side. Her body bent over, her face turned away, she braced her dying body against the floor. Then, just before she drew her last breath, she looked up.

Cullen sat bolt upright, chest heaving and struggling against the blanket twisted around his limbs. His shirt clung to his body from cold sweat. Her eyes continued to stare at him from the dark, her malicious grin burned in his mind. He grabbed at his heart, failing to catch his breath, and stared wildly at the space around him.

The moon still shone brightly, casting its gentle light on the floorboards and his belongings. He anxiously glanced at the shadows in the corners, but nothing emerged from them besides the faint rustling of the leaves. The pool of blood had vanished, the bodies disappeared. In his shaking hand was his knife, beside him his damaged bracer.

He put the weapon aside and let himself fall back on the mattress. His breath slowly began to lengthen as he stared up at the sky, quieting the hammering of his heart. He sighed, rubbing his forehead between his fingers. He'd barely gotten any rest at all, but he didn't dare close his eyes again. Her face, with the maniacal grin, was lurking in the corners of his mind, ready to pounce if he relaxed his guard again.

"Bad dream?"

He snatched the blade from the floor and pointed it at the room. Every muscle in his body tensed, waiting for the visions to manifest themselves again.

"Easy there, Commander. It's a small miracle you didn't hurt yourself before."

"Show yourself!"

"… Up here, Cullen."

He looked up, heart pounding in his throat. A dark shape emerged on the edge of the damaged roof, its features obscured by shadow. The moon lit the figure from behind, casting a glow around her head as its rays filtered through the short locks of raven hair.

"… Hawke?"

"The one and only."

"How… what are you doing there?"

"Enjoying the view. Can I come in?"

"I…" His mind, still hazy, struggled to catch up. "I guess."

She swung her legs down and gracefully dropped into the room. Her boots echoed softly on the floorboards as she walked towards him. He could only see her face once she reached the mattress and knelt down beside him.

"Go on," she said, smiling gently. "Scoot over."

Cullen hesitated a moment, but soon realised he didn't have the energy to argue. He slid to the side, rearranging the blanket to make space for her. She joined him without any reservations, kicking off her boots as she threw herself onto the pillow. He watched her for a moment, but she didn't look back at him. Instead, she folded her hands over her stomach and looked up at the stars. He sighed and settled down beside her.

"This is pretty comfy," she said, wriggling herself into the mattress.

"… How long were you out there for?"

"A while. Sounded like a bad one."

"It was… Have you — have you been there more often?"

She glanced over. "Couple of times…" she admitted. "I was worried about you."

"I see."

"Do you… want to talk about it?"

"No. Not really."

"Fair enough."

"Maybe… we can talk about something else though?" he asked, "Take my mind off it?"

"I can do that," she said cheerfully. "Did I ever tell you of how I found Eustice's pommel in the Bone Pit?"

"… Is that a euphemism?"

She barked a laugh, and proceeded to tell him of her encounter with a dragon in the mines. Her hands gestured in the air before her, drawing a picture to accompany her story. Cullen half-listened to the words, paying more attention to the sound of her voice. He sighed as it slowly chased the dream away, its images steadily fading from his memory.

"In the end I got a fang out of it for Solivitus. I think I might've gotten into the most trouble getting ingredients for that guy. You templars gave me easy jobs in comparison."

"Tracking down blood mages is easy for you?"

"Easier than spiders or a varterral," she laughed. "I hate those shits."

The mattress was broad enough for them not to be touching, yet her presence radiated at his side. He paid attention to her eyes, and the expressions within them. They'd made him so uncomfortable in the past, but that had gone almost entirely. Now he simply enjoyed watching them, her emotions unfolding before him like a play on a stage.

"Tell me… Why did you help the templars?"

"Simple reason," she shrugged. "Friends close, enemies closer."

"Is that what I was to you? An enemy?"

"No, of course not," she murmured. "I had to keep my distance, but I always liked you."

"… Why? I was at my worst when you met me."

"A bit of a self-righteous ox, perhaps," she smirked, "but a very pretty one. Had a bit of a crush on you for a while."

"Please," he huffed, "don't mock me."

She paused, then pushed herself up and rolled to her side. "I do not mock you," she said quietly, looking down on him. "Why do you think I sought you out?"

"You… flirted with everyone. It's good you never heard the others talking about you."

"I can imagine what they said," Hawke chuckled. "It worked well then — better have them think of sleeping with, rather than kill the apostate. But I wasn't just playing with you. I thought you were sweet, underneath all that anger."

He swallowed. At night, trying to sleep in the dark, confined quarters of the prison, he'd often imagined her saying something to that effect. At his worst, he'd imagined her attentions were only for her own amusement, or to manipulate him for some unknown purpose. Yet whenever he had come across her later, it had felt too sincere to really believe it. Hearing the words coming from her now made his chest feel strangely light, like a weight being lifted off of it.

"I… I stopped taking lyrium."

She blinked, her smile slowly fading. "Stopped?"

"Yes… It's why the dreams are worse now, but I… didn't want to be a part of that life any longer."

"Ah…" She looked away, a shadow falling over her face. "I see."

"Don't you approve?"

"No… I approve."

"You're not telling me something."

"It's fine, never mind."

"No, tell me," he pressed, sitting up. "I thought you of all people —"

"I do," she said sternly. Her frown carved a fine line into her forehead. The blue eyes searched his, rapidly flitting back and forth. "But I am concerned."

"It's not always as bad as it was today, I —"

"That's not what I mean."

For a while she was quiet, staring hard at the pillow. When she looked back up, her eyes were shimmering in a way he hadn't seen them do before.

"It's been fun, spending time with you these last days," she said, "All the good things I saw in you back then, they're all coming out now."

"That is the goal! I am trying to get away from that."

"Are you? I approve, Cullen, of course I do. But you lead an army of templars and are head over heels for the Herald of Andraste. How different is it, really?"

He stared at her. "It's not the same. They are allies, not conscripts. I lead the Inquisition's army and she —"

"_She_ is more of a templar than anyone here."

Hawke looked up, expelling her breath in a frustrated huff. She stared hard at the sky, allowing the moonlight to fall on her face. Her eyes drifted off, searching for memories or thoughts among the stars. Gradually, with every breath, her expression lost some of its intensity. She dropped her gaze to somewhere on the ground, then reached out to him with a sigh.

"Look, I don't know her," she said quietly, placing her hand on top of his, "but I do know it's been great seeing who you've become. I would hate for you to linger rather than keep moving forward."

He grasped on to her fingers, holding them tightly. He wanted to tell her he would be okay, though he did not have the conviction. But more than anything, he felt his heart swell with gratitude. It didn't matter they had not spent much time together, nor if part of her reason for keeping him close had been to avoid detection from the Chantry. It didn't change that he had been in someone's thoughts, at a time where he thought he'd been completely alone.

"Thank you," he whispered. "It's good to hear… that you care."

"I've been told I care too much," she said, laughing softly. "It's what gets me into trouble."

"I'll try not to cause you any."

"You don't… Can I do something?"

"… What?"

"Lie down."

He rested his head and she lay down beside him, keeping some distance except for her hand lingering on his. Warmth tingled at his fingertips under her touch, first barely noticeable, but soon spreading through his arm. Something unlocked within her, unleashing a current through his body, its waves syncing with his breath like they had done before. His dream, the tremors, the headaches, the chills…. all were further than ever, washed away by the tide.

"It's not a spell," she explained, "Casting involves shaping mana into something concrete. Rather I… just let it flow. I find it relaxes me."

"… How does it work?"

"Who really knows how this stuff works… I just wondered if it might do something for you. Seems like I was right."

"It… feels really nice," he sighed, letting his eyes fall closed. He became aware of muscles he had not noticed in months, and the stress they had been keeping. The tension slowly dissipated from his body as it sank deeper into the mattress. He drifted out of consciousness briefly, only to have his mind jerk him awake in self-defence at a sudden flash from his dream.

"Relax…" Hawke shushed him, gently squeezing his tensing hand. "I'll be here. Just sleep."

He gave in to the warmth, relenting to the tiredness dragging his eyelids shut as he trusted the mage to watch over him. His breath deepened and his thoughts turned cloudy, until he eventually fell into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke the next morning, it was to the sun, high in the sky from where it shone brightly through the hole in the roof. The Champion had gone, leaving nothing more than a hint of her smell on his sheets. In her absence, his dreams soon returned. Yet a sense of peace stayed with him as he went about his duties and joined his men for a drink at night, a new resolve carefully growing in his heart.


	25. An Understanding

The party left for Crestwood at daybreak, their horses' hooves echoing hollow in between the silent slopes. Although their scouts and soldiers had carved out a path to the foothills, the ride down remained perilous nonetheless. Elsa led the group, her steady destrier carefully finding sure footing underneath her. Close to her was Varric, his pony slipping slightly on the loose rocks, followed by Cassandra and The Iron Bull. The Qunari was chipper despite the early hour, attempting to engage Cassandra in small talk about her armour and her form. Clearly, he was excited about the prospect of fighting with her after seeing her practice in the training grounds. Cassandra, to Elsa's surprise, was fairly receptive to his attentions. Closing the line were Hawke and Dorian. The Tevinter seemed to take great joy in talking to Thedas' symbol for mage freedom. Elsa herself had a more strained relationship with the man; though he had a happy manner, he had not refrained from reacting to her views on magic with incredulity. She'd considered Mother Giselle's suggestion of not allowing him to stay, but in the end had decided she couldn't ask him to leave after he'd risked his life to warn them. Especially after he'd pointed out their families were related. Even if it was distantly, one could never be sure when such a slight might backfire.

Although the Champion generally enjoyed the Tevinter's company, this particular morning Hawke did not appear in the mood to converse with him. Whenever Elsa glanced to the back of the line, the mage's eyes were closed, the reins loosely in her hand as her horse followed the trail of the others. She opened them once in a while, when they called towards the back to announce a particularly treacherous fissure in the road or other obstacle, only to briefly glance at the disturbance, before closing her eyes again and allowing her horse to find its own path.

They sped up once they reached flat land, hurrying to reach the first Inquisition camp before the end of the day. Elsa was eager to utilise the ones that had been established for as long as they could, and had planned their route to accommodate this. What she had not counted on, however, was the weather.

Just a few days into their trip, the rain began. It was a few drops at first, at which Cassandra only just managed to comment that it didn't look too bad. The sky answered her with a thunderous roar. A downpour started, sharp as hail that pelted their faces and the tops of their heads. They pulled up their hoods in self-defence, though it did not stop the water from seeping under their armour and soaking their underclothes in a matter of minutes. Elsa dug her heels into her mount, urging him towards the nearest structure. A covered bridge, half broken and creaking under the weight of their horses, provided them with cover. They waited… and waited… and waited, the sky never brightening from the dull and heavy grey, once in a while streaked with purple lightning.

"Lovely homeland you have, Champion," Dorian grumbled, wringing out his scarf. "Is it always like this?"

"Usually," the mage yawned, leaning forward on her horse's neck. "Although that lightning doesn't look natural to me. This is no normal storm."

"How are we going to continue in this?" Elsa suppressed a shiver. Her wet hair lay flush against her neck and her leather armour pressed her soaked tunic into her skin. "We can barely see ten yards ahead of us."

"It'll be hard to pinpoint our location with the sky this overcast." Varric squinted at the clouds in an attempt to decipher them. "Can't you do something magic-y against it, Hawke?"

"No, can't do."

"Though we would never admit to any shortcoming on our part," Dorian added, eyeing the storm with a measuring look, "we could only keep us dry for a time. We can't stop the weather."

"Besides, we're already wet," Hawke added lazily.

"We'll just need to continue then." Cassandra drew up her coat and spurred on her horse, stepping out from cover first. "And hope it stops eventually."

It did not stop. If anything, it only became worse. Elsa watched her carefully crafted route drown before her. What Inquisition camps or villages had been there for them to use as safe stops along the way to Crestwood were lost in the fog and unreachable within a day's travel at the pace they were forced to go. She halted her horse, causing the rest to follow her example, and shielded her eyes with her hand from the water running down her face as she scanned their surroundings for any recognisable landmark.

"We should find Lake Calenhad," Hawke suggested, pulling up beside her. The mage's short hair lay flat against her head, big droplets dripping from the ends. "Once we reach the shoreline, we can follow it until we reach Crestwood."

Elsa considered it, biting the inside of her lip. From the moss on the trees she could deduce the general directions of north and south. They should happen upon Lake Calenhad as long as they headed straight to the east, making it easier to find than any of the Inquisition's camps. Though it would take longer than the route she'd planned, the mage's suggestion seemed like the only option.

They continued to ride in silence, pulling their cloaks high around their necks in a futile attempt to stay dry underneath. Elsa sat hunched over in her saddle, tensing at the disgusting feeling of her wet clothing hanging off her body. The season had started to turn, so it wasn't too cold. But the warm humidity made it hard to breathe, and caused the air to feel sticky on her skin. By the time they left the forest, their horses struggling to lift their feet from the muddy ground, the mood had soured considerably. Least affected perhaps was Iron Bull, quite possibly because he wore little armour to become drenched and weigh him down, but even he simply stared silently ahead with a scowl for as long as they rode.

Her previous trips to the Hinterlands and Orlais had been uncomfortable and Skyhold's permanent frost was grating, but the constant dampness in her clothes and hair was worse than either. For the following nights, they tried to find shelter under a group of trees as they made camp, stretching a tarp between them as a makeshift roof. It was at these times at least that the mages were able to offer some relief, by artificially drying out their equipment and bedrolls, as well as taking turns in warding their camp from the worst of the rain. Elsa lay on her bedroll, her breath shallow in her chest against the oppressive humidity, her gut swirling a little within the confines of the magical aura. Those, however, were only the first obstacles to a night of rest.

The dreams continued to surface, not as intense as they were after Therinfal, but very present nonetheless. Without the lists of tasks from Skyhold to keep her occupied, they were worse. Visions from combat, events from long ago stirred up by Envy, Corypheus and his army of red mages… Her mind was creative in combining the different sources of trauma, presenting them to her in disturbing mixes of memories and fiction. Whenever she would fall asleep, it would generally not be long before she jerked awake. If she would remain asleep, she was not particularly rested when she woke. This night she managed four or five hours, before her nightmares shook her awake to the loud ruffle of the rain against the magically enforced canvas above her head. She sighed, rubbing her eyes with both hands, and pushed herself up. They would be packing up in a few hours; falling asleep at this point was only guaranteed to make her even more tired.

Hawke was sitting by the fire, her back turned towards her. Elsa hesitated, wondering if she should lie back down and pretend to be asleep for the rest of the night, when the mage turned her head.

"Good morning, Inquisitor. Care to join me?"

Elsa contained a sigh, but went to sit by her. She had avoided time alone with the mage, which was not difficult when travelling in a small party. Although they had not been her first choice, the general atmosphere in the group in the evenings was surprisingly pleasant, in spite of their general situation. The dynamic between Iron Bull and Dorian was especially entertaining to observe. Cassandra also seemed to have relented her anger with the Champion, asking her for stories of her past. The mage either reluctantly provided them, or tasked Varric with relaying them in her stead. The Seeker's disposition towards the dwarf remained a little cool, but not to an extent that it ruined the mood further than the weather already did.

"Good morning, Lady Hawke."

She sat down on one of the logs, habitually straightening out her cloak. Hawke observed her from the corner of her eyes, prodding the flames with a stick.

"You don't have to do that, you know."

"Do what?"

"Lady Hawke this, lady Hawke that… Trying to get under my skin." The mage continued to watch her with raised eyebrows, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"… I assure you that wasn't my —"

"Don't play dumb," she chuckled. "Look, maybe you thought I'd get into a cat fight with you, but you're wasting your energy. I am not your competition."

Elsa held her gaze a while longer, then turned her attention to the flames.

"So, why are you up so early?" the mage asked conversationally.

"… Bad dream."

"Those seem to be going around."

"How about you?" Elsa asked her. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"I'm on rain-repellent duty."

"The wards don't need to be renewed for a while. You could sleep."

"Look at you," Hawke laughed, "being an expert on wards all of a sudden."

"We've been doing the same thing for days! It's common sense —"

"Calm down," she chuckled. "I was just teasing."

Elsa glowered at her. Hawke didn't look back anymore, so she directed her glare back to the fire instead, staring hard at the crumbling logs within.

"To answer your question," the mage said, "I don't really sleep."

"… Ever?"

"Well, sometimes obviously, but not a full night. An hour here and there."

"That must be tiring."

"It's been like that for a long time," Hawke shrugged. "At some point it was because of work. People with my skills have an easier time earning a living at night."

"Is that still the reason?"

The mage looked her over, no longer mocking. "In part… but dreams as well. How bad are yours?"

"… Quite bad," Elsa admitted. "It's been hard, since Therinfal. Then Haven."

"Can imagine," Hawke murmured. "Sounds like it was pretty intense."

Elsa glanced at their companions, lying a little ways away on their bedrolls. Varric's usual low rumble had been joined by the louder snores of Bull. Similarly, Cassandra generally appeared to be gone the moment her head hit the pillow. Dorian was the only one who tossed and turned a bit whenever they went to sleep, but even he would quiet down soon enough.

"It was," she said quietly, feeling envious of her sleeping party. "I'm not sure how the others do it."

"Warriors see a lot of shit in their lifetime," Hawke shrugged. "It's what they train for. Templars drown out with lyrium what they can't reconcile with, the Qunari get reprogrammed… I imagine the Seeker has her own ways. Mages try to take control when they enter the Fade. As far as Varric is concerned…" She looked at the dwarf's sleeping shape and smiled. "Dwarves don't dream. Lucky bastards."

"Sounds like a blessing."

"Yeah…"

They sat in silence, watching the fire dance in the pit. One of the logs crumbled, suffocating some of the flames. Hawke got up to grab another and added it to the stack. With a flick of her wrist, the flames surged and latched onto the new piece of wood. The fire continued to crackle with renewed vigour, its warmth washing over them. Elsa inched towards it, eager to absorb as much of its heat as she could.

Hawke continued to look into the flames, seemingly lost in thought. Elsa watched her, longer than she ever had up until now. The fire reflected brightly in the mage's sharp eyes, while shadows highlighted the marks on her face that age and combat had left behind. Passages from Varric's _Tale of the Champion_ surfaced from Elsa's memory. She'd read it often, perhaps more than any other book. The heroine had always seemed larger than life, someone working her way through an oppressive system for the greater good of the common folk. Now she sat across from her, scarred arms and face, dirty armour and messy hair… Everything about the mage showed the evidence of a life lived that had been little more than words on a page to Elsa until recently.

"Would you have accepted?" she asked her. "If Cassandra had found you?"

The mage's eyebrows rose a notch. "Perhaps," she mused, "Varric knows I have a hard time turning people down. It's good he kept me away."

"But… you would have done fine."

"I doubt it. I'm good at this stuff," she said, gesturing at their general surroundings, "but all the management involved is not me. You're doing much better at that than I ever would."

Elsa was surprised to feel herself flush a little. For some reason, praise from the Champion seemed to resonate deeper than that of most others. Or perhaps it was the fact that simple compliments were not often to be received. Generally, whenever someone spoke highly of her, it was due to their belief that she was ordained by Andraste, rather than her own skills.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

A smile slowly formed on the mage's face. "Tell me," she said, "why did you execute that templar captain?"

"His crimes were —"

"I know why he had to die. Why were _you_ the one to kill him?"

"It's a reality I need to deal with, and I… didn't want to rely on someone else for it."

"That's admirable." The mage let her eyes drift over her. "With someone else… do you mean Cullen?"

Cullen's name sent a shiver down her spine that settled deep in her stomach. "For example. It's a burden he — I mean, it's one that no one needs."

"Perhaps… Although from what I've heard, he probably would have been pleased to pass judgement on that guy. Especially if he could do it in your name."

Elsa looked away, swallowing against the tightening of her throat. "He… is devoted to the Inquisition."

"Hmm," Hawke murmured, "and in love with you."

"He's not."

"Oh, I think he is," the mage chuckled.

"Stop it."

"Tell him that. He was always obvious, but not like this. I'd call it cute, if it wasn't so nauseating."

"He doesn't love me!" she snapped, anger flaring once more.

Hawke had raised her eyebrows at her outburst. Now she sat quietly, waiting for her to continue.

Elsa sighed, staring into the fire. "I stumbled into Corypheus' ritual, survived Haven by a stroke of luck. I can't stop people from believing what they will, but I can't —" Cullen's shape surfaced in the flickering flames; candlelight reflecting off his armour, head bowed as it was when he prayed before Andraste, sword planted at her feet. "It's not the same. His priority is his duty to the Herald of Andraste."

"… But that's you."

"No! It isn't. I… I'm just trying to do what I can. I don't know who I am!"

"Elsa Trevelyan, last I heard."

"I — Maker's breath, are you slow or what?"

Her accent had slipped, lacing her words with harsh sarcasm. Hawke barked a laugh, but quieted when Varric snorted loudly from his bedroll. They watched the dwarf turn over in his sleep, before his breath resumed its regular rhythm.

"Do you ever take anything seriously?" Elsa grumbled, glaring at the mage.

"Not too often," she grinned, "I'd have to throw myself off the nearest cliff if I did."

Elsa shook her head in disbelief. Hawke looked at her a while longer with an impish smile, then got up and walked to the edge of camp. She halted just on the border where her and Dorian's magic kept the rain at bay, and looked out over the lake.

"Do you know what that is?"

Lake Calenhad was black as ink in the night, its surface tumultuous under the constant hammering of the rain. Concealed by the fog and the storm, a large structure rose up from the distant waters. A long, broken bridge disappeared somewhere into the mist, as did the skinny tower reaching high into the sky.

"It's Kinloch Hold," Elsa said quietly. "Ferelden's Circle."

Hawke nodded. "I remember my dad taking my sister and me to this shoreline. He wanted to show us where we'd go if we were ever discovered. It was meant to be a motivator for us to stay hidden. It worked for me, but I think Bethany was actually charmed by the idea. She always hated the trouble our magic put the family through."

The mage had adopted her usual posture, leaning on one leg with her hip cocked to the side, her arms folded in front of her stomach. The casual stance did not acknowledge the sadness that had crept into her voice. Elsa got up and went to stand beside her. She did not acknowledge her when she did, her gaze focused on a point far beyond the horizon.

"Your sister is a mage as well?"

"Was," she corrected her. "She died."

"… I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It's been years."

"That doesn't always make a difference."

With their backs to the fire, it was harder to distinguish the mage's expressions. A glimmer shone in her darkened eyes as she glanced over, once more giving Elsa the feeling that she was being appraised. She stared firmly ahead herself, hoping the dark did an equally good job of hiding her own discomfort.

"You're right," the mage said quietly. "I feel more responsible for her death, than I do for the dozens of others that I caused much more directly."

Elsa nodded, but didn't speak. There was no need to spell it out; somehow, in that moment, they both understood each other. They looked out over the lake, the rain drumming on the magical barrier over their heads.

"You must have gone through some trouble yourself, hiding what you are."

"I… I'm not sure I want to talk about it."

"That's alright." The mage breathed in deeply, and nodded towards the tower. "Did he tell you what happened to him there?"

A streak of lightning lit up the distant sky, briefly illuminating the spire. The thunder came rumbling in some seconds later, shaking the barrier around them. Hawke held up her hand and whispered an enchantment, reinforcing the shield.

"No," Elsa said quietly. "I know it was taken over by blood mages, but not what happened to him personally. He mentioned it once, but I… didn't ask further."

"I see."

"Do you know?"

She shook her head. "No, but I heard the rumours when he first arrived in Kirkwall. Since templars cannot be possessed so easily, it stands to reason blood mages would either use them as a sacrifice or have demons try to tempt them into submission. The fact that he's alive only leaves a number of possibilities."

"I wonder…" Her voice trailed off. Her own experience at Therinfal had been disturbing, but she realised it was presumptuous to compare it to the Commander's past. As a templar, over years of service, he undoubtedly saw much more than one lone demon trying to possess him.

"You're aware he quit lyrium?" the mage asked.

"Yes. He… told you?"

"Remember," she smirked, "I am not your competition."

Elsa felt her cheeks flush. "I didn't —"

Hawke shushed her, waving her hand once more at the barrier. The magic surged, flashing brightly across the glowing dome. "Listen," she said, "two people that I respect, speak very highly of you. Honestly, I've been finding it hard to see why; you're not the type of person I'd usually spend time with. Now, I could write them off as idiots, but that's not how I know them to be." The mage angled her head, watching her like a curious bird observing something interesting on the ground. "I tease you, because it's the easiest way to draw you out. I don't really care how you go about fixing the world — Maker knows I am not one to judge on that front. But I do want to know that the people I care about follow someone who will do right by them."

"I'm not sure they need me to, when they have someone like you looking after their interests."

"The way I live, I fully expect to die any day," she said unceremoniously. "This war might last longer than I do."

Elsa stared at her, at a loss for words after such candour. She still couldn't tell when the mage was serious or not, but her lack of fear at the thought of her own death did not seem fabricated. "I… don't know if I'll live up to your expectations. I'm not like you."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Like me?"

"You… everything seems easy for you. Even the templars respect you, despite your fighting the Order in Kirkwall."

"Ah," Hawke said, smiling. "I do fine as long as issues can be solved by punching them hard enough. Fortunately, many can. But you don't need to be like me to succeed in your position. In fact, I'd recommend against it." Her eyes flickered brightly in the green glow of the barrier, its light once more intensified by the gestures of her hand. "Now, Varric is a big boy. I'd die before I let something happen to him, but the kind of trouble he gets in is something he can generally find his way out of. But Cullen is going to need help, even if he won't admit it. I cannot fix that, not in the long run."

Elsa glanced back over to the Circle tower, wondering what had transpired there. She had always found it odd to think that people's lives went on once you parted ways with them; that they continued to move, act, and think, bothered by their own concerns that you would likely never hear about. The selfishness of the thought was not lost on her, as if the world revolved only when she was around. Yet, it was strange to think that Cullen was back in Skyhold, hopefully under better weather conditions than they were, dealing with whatever issues came his way. It was even stranger to imagine he had been across the lake years ago, and what his life was like then.

"I don't know how I can be with him," she said honestly, ignoring the ache in her chest. "My history with the Order and… it feels too messy, with our positions."

"I'm not a matchmaker," Hawke chuckled, "but he thinks the world of you. Whether it is because of you, or because of the things that happened to you, is all the same to me. I expect you to be there _for_ him, when he needs it."

Although it was largely filtered by the streaking rain, a sliver of light slowly crept over the horizon. It was the dawn of another muggy day. Behind them, the regular snores ceased, signalling the impending awakening of the party.

"… I can do that."

The mage looked her over a while longer, then turned her attention back to the lake.

"Good."


	26. Still Waters

Elsa ruminated on her conversation with the mage for the following days; there was little else to do while sitting hunched over in her saddle, trying to ignore her sopping shoes and the sleet assaulting her face. As she reflected on the things they'd talked about, her attitude oscillated between indignity and defiance. She could only guess at what the Champion had seen in Cullen or what he'd told her about his condition, but it must have been of some severity for her to bring it up. She doubted she was the mage's first choice in enlisting aid on his behalf. Elsa herself, however, had not considered his situation much at all with everything that had been going on, despite her being all too familiar with the struggle that lyrium withdrawal brought.

It was hard to admit, but her thoughts about him had not gone much beyond her own confusing feelings for him. Yet he had been in pain even before they'd left for Therinfal. She had known, but she had forgotten the moment he stopped showing it, or written it off as something she couldn't deal with, not on top of everything else. Whenever she was on this end of the spectrum of her emotions, feeling like a scolded child being told to stand in the corner, her defence mechanisms kicked in with a vengeance.

Who did the mage think she was, showing up out of nowhere, judging how _she_ was handling things? She, who had been trying to put things back together after the mage herself took her part in wrecking it all. Hawke didn't even seem to care much for restoring this mess, and was happy to let her do the heavy lifting. The only thing she cared about was fixing her own mistakes.

Elsa allowed herself this kind of angry, self-satisfying thoughts for some time whenever they surfaced, relishing in how well they resonated with the bitter sky raging above her head. Yet it would not be long before the other voice in her mind began to make itself heard again, reminding her that she was being wholly and unreasonably unfair. The back and forth between these states, as the rain continued to drum on her head and drip under her collar, caused her discomfort with the mage to remain as strong as it had when she first showed her face. Yet the more time she actually continued to spend around her, the harder it became to justify. Not that the feeling went away… she just started feeling worse about having it.

What Hawke passed off as a carefree, cavalier attitude, soon revealed itself to be rooted in methodical and thorough preparation. The way she had announced her choice of team had made it seem like she had simply selected those who made the best drinking buddies. Yet, nothing was further from the truth. Elsa had scoffed at the time the mage spent in Skyhold's training grounds — sparring with each companion, templar or soldier that dared enter the ring with her — while Elsa herself was trying to find a way to feed them all. The reason for it, however, became clear the first moment they encountered combat.

Crestwood's entrance was closed in a vain attempt to keep out the demons knocking on its gates. Hawke halted her horse at a safe distance, throwing her leg over its neck. She landed on the floor, smooth and catlike despite her soaked armour. The rest of them followed her example and, with nothing more than a gesture and a look, her party had decided its strategy. Dorian's skills were more subtle than those of the other mages Elsa had fought beside, restraining his targets with hexes, causing them to stumble and panic, summoning spirits of his own to do his bidding and siphon the life force of his enemies. He supplemented The Iron Bull well, who used the confusion he created to his advantage by cutting and cleaving his massive weapon into anything he could find, much like the animal he'd chosen as a namesake once it became enraged. As he stormed the battlefield, he hollered war cries that settled in Elsa's stomach and filled her chest with a bravery she had never known before. Varric provided cover for the brash warrior, his bolts rapidly countering claws and fangs that were trying to catch the Bull by surprise and halting their attacks. Hawke herself was in the thick of the fighting with the Qunari, easily commanding every element at her disposal in devastating attacks, drawing the enemy fire towards herself while she kept a close eye on each of her companions and provided them with shields or healing when required.

She hadn't been playing around in the training yard. She had been holding auditions, tests of what the Inquisition had on offer for her to craft the best possible team, that fit with her combat style, and that would help her in finding the Warden and hunt down Corypheus. Elsa was extra weight, a fifth wheel on an oiled machine Hawke had put together with the perfect amount of wheels already. Cassandra was an additional set of gears that Elsa had added, one that could cause serious issues to the functioning of the whole through her anger with Varric and the mage herself.

Cassandra herself did not seem to notice, or was otherwise deterred by her obsolescence. She threw herself into combat alongside the Bull, granting Elsa the now familiar role of providing her cover from a distance. Her arrows gave her the time she needed to summon her powers and vanquish several of the demons on the field in a blast of holy light. Bull hooted wildly when she did, and Hawke flashed a smirk. Though the Seeker was a factor she had not accounted for, the mage quickly adapted to her presence, taking her into her defensive barriers and buffing her when she could. Within minutes, the entrance to Crestwood was clear, and the team exchanged shoulder claps and other signs of camaraderie, congratulating each other on a fight well fought. Elsa stood apart from them, observing their joyful expressions with mild astonishment.

"I hate demons," the Iron Bull grunted, slinging his weapon over his shoulder, "but smashing them to bits after you freeze them is really satisfying."

"Glad to be of service, big guy," Hawke laughed, her hand resting on Varric's shoulder.

"Next time, give the hunk of muscle a little more room to breathe, Champion," Dorian suggested. "I had to adjust my casting a few times not to catch you in my line of fire."

"Noted," she nodded. "Nice job, Seeker. I didn't think you much different from the average templar, but I do not mind admitting I was wrong."

Before the Seeker could answer, Iron Bull slapped a large hand on her shoulder and squeezed it a little. "Yeah, solid work. If you were a man, I'd say you need a woman after a move like that. As it stands, I'd be happy to volunteer."

"Remove your hand or lose it, Bull," Cassandra said sternly, though her eyes did not follow through on the threat.

The Qunari let out a hearty laugh, and followed her order. They continued to chat as they entered the village, its gates now being opened by the careful villagers who had poked out their heads once the sounds of combat had subsided. Bull continued to openly admire the Seeker's skills, while Dorian went on discussing specifics with Hawke on how to harmonise their spells better. In the bustle, Varric turned around to find Elsa. He cocked his head to the side, perhaps wondering why she hadn't joined them, then made to pick her up from her position downhill.

"Doing alright, Sterling? You didn't freeze up anymore."

"I'm… fine." She brought a hand to her chest, feeling the effects of Bull's war cry slowly subsiding. "Compared to red lyrium mages and templars, I suppose demons are not so terrible anymore."

"It's easier to distance yourself from them, to be sure," he agreed. "But hang back if it becomes too much, okay? No need to overdo it."

"Actually, that would not be advisable." They looked up to find Hawke standing some distance away, having retraced her steps until halfway down the path. "You're a good shot, but it's hard to cover you when you distance yourself. Stay close to Varric in the future, alright? That way we only have to keep track of one of you."

Elsa swallowed the bitterness she felt at needing to be guarded by the mage, but nodded. The other seemed satisfied enough with that and gestured with her staff towards the gates.

"The mayor wants to talk to you," she continued, pointing the weapon in the direction of one of the men talking to Cassandra in the village square. "I suggest we figure out the situation and get a move on. If that scout of yours is correct about the rift, then the storm is emanating from it. Perhaps we can get this fucking rain to stop if we clear it."

o - o - o

It had been late in the day when they arrived, although the continuing storm made it hard to pinpoint an exact time. Crestwood's villagers, having been victim to the weather for much longer than they had, were not the most welcoming sorts. The mayor, however, did bother to provide them with lodging and a warm meal. They sat around a large table inside the cabin, enjoying the roaring fire and a roof over their heads, while he informed them of the general situation: Old Crestwood submerged in the lake, a mechanism to open the dam and drain it, an old fort overrun with bandits standing between them and it. The mayor did not seem eager for them to go down this path, but it did not take much for him to see the current situation wasn't sustainable either. Elsa eyed the man from across the table, wondering what he was hiding so poorly and whether it was worthwhile for her to uncover it. Then, Hawke spoke.

"We should do it tonight," she said tossing her spoon back into her empty bowl. "Take out the bandits under the cover of dark."

"Covert operation," Dorian mused, "I like it."

"You want me to be quiet?" Bull asked, clearly less enthused by this idea.

"See it as a challenge," the mage smiled. "Trying new things is good for the mind, you know."

"Should we not rest the night?" Elsa asked her. "We've been riding since daybreak."

"We can rest when there's no more demons knocking on these people's doors." Hawke's sharp eyes lingered on hers, then swept the group. "Is everyone okay with getting a few hours of sleep, then head out? I'd like to get this done, but you need to be sharp. Especially you two," she added, gesturing to Elsa and Varric.

The warriors murmured their agreement. Dorian sighed, but shrugged in consent. Varric looked to Elsa. The dwarf looked a lot better than he had some time ago. His eyes were alert, his skin no longer ashen, and he'd regained the bit of weight he'd lost during their trek to Skyhold.

"It's up to you, Sterling."

Elsa considered, biting the inside of her lip, then nodded.

o - o - o

They approached Caer Bronach some hours later, taking cover in the undergrowth as they climbed the nearby hills. The keep was massive — far from as imposing as Skyhold, but impressive nonetheless. "Would make a good base for the Inquisition," Cassandra whispered. Elsa agreed. The people of Crestwood would be a lot safer if they could take refuge within the walls, rather than the Highwaymen who had claimed it as their own.

Hawke disappeared for a while, telling them all to wait with a simple gesture of her hand. When she returned, she could tell exactly where and how many men were standing guard on the nearby walls, and where they could find their opening. They followed her, to where the muted moonlight cast the keep's gallows in long, stark shadows. The bodies that still hung from them swayed in the stormy winds, like marionettes on a single string.

Elsa tore her gaze away from them when Hawke nudged her. She pointed at the lone guard patrolling this side of the wall, holding his collar high around his neck with both hands. "Can you take him?" the mage mouthed. Elsa readied her weapon. The arrow struck the man between his hands, piercing his throat as easily as butter. He dropped to his knees in silence and disappeared from view behind the battlements. "Nice," Hawke whispered. Elsa forced herself to not consider her target too much — given the weather conditions, it was a good shot.

They sprinted the distance to the wall, staying low, where Varric equipped his crossbow with an attachment from his bag. He aimed the weapon up, and let the grappling hook fly in a graceful arc. It hooked itself behind the wall, leaving them with their way in. Varric went first to scout, his feet slipping a bit on the mossy wall, quickly followed by Hawke, who climbed her way up with ease.

"You first, Inquisitor," Cassandra told her, holding the rope out to her.

Elsa hesitated, looking up at the wall. It was eight to nine meters at least, she guessed, and the rain continued to run down it, making the surface wet and slick. This all was not helped by the fact that she'd never climbed a rope before.

"I'm not sure I can," she admitted, glancing over at the Seeker.

"No worries." Before she had a chance to protest, a thick tree trunk of an arm scooped her up by her waist and lifted her in the air. She slapped her hand to her mouth to suppress her surprised squeal, as Bull threw her over his shoulder. She grabbed on to the leather band of his armour running across his back with one hand, and to the heavy axe strapped to his torso with her other. "You hanging on tight there, Boss?" he said, lightly patting the back of her legs with his massive hand. "I can't hold you while climbing."

She nodded, unable to speak and her face flushed with heat. He let out a rumbling chuckle that vibrated in her body, and grabbed the rope. Seconds later, they were up on the wall, where he knelt low and let her down more gracefully than he had lifted her. To her relief, neither Hawke nor Varric paid attention to how she had gotten there. Instead, the mage motioned for her to come closer and silently pointed out their next targets while Cassandra and Dorian climbed up behind them.

Four more arrows and a number of bolts cleared the walls and the watch towers. The grounds below were deserted, save for the dark shapes of something moving around much smaller than a person.

"Guard dogs," Varric said quietly, placing another bolt in his weapon.

"Take them out from here," Hawke told him. "They can be unpredictable."

Elsa resisted the urge to argue. These were war dogs, trained to kill them on sight, not the hunting hounds from home. There was nothing about them that made them any different from other animals she'd hunted, yet even though these would harm her, it felt more wrong to shoot them than it did a deer or a rabbit. She loaded an arrow and let it fly. The mabari dropped, twitched, and went still, while its brother did the same at the hand of Varric's crossbow.

They swept the keep; sword, knife, and staff blades striking unsuspecting guards in the back or piercing others in their sleep. Elsa followed behind, keeping track of anyone emerging from doors or corridors behind them with Varric, while she tried to ignore the metallic stench of blood that slowly saturated the air. _This is good. They are bandits. The people from this area can use this keep better. The Inquisition can use it to help. They are criminals, like Denam. This is good. It is necessary._ Perhaps, eventually, she'd convince herself.

o - o - o

Green light played above the charcoal coloured lake, sharp cones that radiated from deep within its tumultuous waters. The wind tore on their clothes as they made their way across the dam, struggling to fight their way towards the tavern building that housed its controls. Elsa gratefully made use of Iron Bull's massive shape in protecting her from the gale, a role which he seemed happy enough to fulfil. He put his giant arm around her shoulders, surprisingly gentle for someone so enormous, and positioned himself a little in front of her to more effectively block out the wind. She noticed Dorian falling in line not far away from them, utilising the shield provided by the Qunari as well.

The door slammed shut behind them. They stood inside the dimly lit room, shivering, when a scuffling sound from behind some crates made them jump. Fire flared in Hawke's fist, Dorian's chants caused the Veil to ripple, Cassandra drew her sword, and Bull readied his axe – their target; a terrified couple with their clothes half undone, that stepped out of the shadows with their hands in the air. Elsa relaxed, briefly allowing herself to wonder how they got there through the weather and bandits. Before she had much of a chance to voice these thoughts, the mages retracted their spells, and Hawke quickly pressed on while Dorian told the pair to not let their party distract them. They soon found the controls, and with some efforts from the two warriors, the dam gates opened beneath them and the water began to rumble.

o - o - o

Old Crestwood was thick with fog, its forgotten buildings rising up from oblivion. The broken beams and wooden boarding were green with algae, slick and shiny like gems in the light of the moon. Barren trees cast spidery shadows with their leafless branches across the ground where they walked, causing the faces of her companions to shift in the corners of her vision as they flickered between dark and light. Elsa thought there was something beautiful about the sunken town, in a haunting, melancholic kind of way. That was, until she started paying closer attention.

Smaller items had been washed away from their original positions as the tide had rolled in, and now lay bunched up in corners of rooms or spread out over the streets. Yet the water had preserved much that might otherwise have disintegrated, providing signs of previous life all over the town. A cart stood close to the entrance on what once had been a tavern, the skeleton of a horse still strapped in its harness lying on the ground in front of it. The wares, barrels with contents that had long leaked out, were half unloaded, half on the wagon. The remains of a man, body half eaten away by fish and rot, messenger bag slung across his shoulder lay on a porch; a mailman on his way to deliver a letter. At another house, its exterior walls largely stripped away, the kitchen showed signs of an interrupted meal being cooked. In the corner, a crib with an unidentifiable lump underneath a baby blanket with holes.

"These people had no warning," Elsa said quietly.

"Seems like it." Hawke's jaw had sharpened in response to her tightening muscles. "I'll have some questions for that mayor when we get back."

She halted quite suddenly, stretching out her arm to prevent Elsa from moving further forward. Elsa looked around her, trying to identify the source of her concern while she readied her bow. It approached slowly, nothing more betraying its presence than a slight dragging sound that was almost lost in the continued downpour of the rain. A rattling breath, gurgling in a throat from which air escaped through broken skin. The wandering corpse shuffled into view, struggling to make its way forward in the muddy ground. It paused when it reached the street they'd been walking and turned its head, its eyes blank and unseeing, yet registering their presence. Its mouth opened and it reached with rotten arms, turning clumsily to change directions and shuffle towards them.

Varric's bolt lodged in its chest, her own arrow pierced its head. It halted momentarily, then continued to shuffle forward, undeterred by the projectiles sticking out of its already dead body.

"Cripple it," Hawke instructed them. "If you can't kill it, then slow it down."

They did as she suggested, shooting at its lower limbs while the Veil quivered in anticipation as Hawke and Dorian prepared their magic. The corpse stumbled and fell, its foot dislodged from its body by her arrow and a bolt sticking out of its broken knee. It continued to come towards them, clawing with its hands and leaving a trail in the mud as it dragged its damaged lower body behind it. Elsa stepped back involuntarily, nausea rising in her throat at the monstrosity before her. It was shiny and swollen, blue veins under the white, translucent skin of its pudgy, water-clogged fingers that tried to grab for her cloak. She accidentally backed up into Cassandra, who pushed past her, raising her sword, and struck. The head rolled off its shoulders; the eyes stared at them some time longer, the rotten mouth opening and closing like a fish.

A chilling sound began to rise around them, slowly increasing in volume as more voices joined the choir of the dead, until their moans overtook even the drum of the rain. They rose up from the muddy ground in which they had sunken, emerged from the seaweed covered houses. Some were mere bones, held together with pieces of stringy muscle or tendon, while others donned skin or clothes covered in barnacles and seaweed. Their eyes were all the same; white and blank, with no discernible iris or pupil, staring straight at the living intruders in their midst. The skeletal horse lifted its head and rose to its feet, its limbs positioning themselves underneath its bony rib cage as if an invisible hand was playing with a doll.

"I suggest we move quickly," Dorian quipped, the lightness of his tone not matching the rest of his face.

No one disagreed and they pressed forward. The mages led the group, wielding fire at the ends of their staffs to clear a path through the thickening crowd closing around them, while Iron Bull and Cassandra flanked their sides to ward off any that dared to step closer. Elsa stayed close to Varric, feeling the dwarf's arm tense against her hip whenever he fired another bolt, while she kept her bow drawn towards the other side. She had used a significant number of her arrows already… she would need to make the ones she had left count.

Suddenly, the mark burned as it did whenever a rift was close. Elsa focused on it, trying to use it to her advantage. Her eye fell on a cave entrance, half concealed behind collapsed woodwork. She indicated it to Hawke, who glanced back at her briefly, then adjusted their course towards it. They reached the entrance, both mages ushering the rest of them inside first, before retreating backwards into the entrance themselves, the flames of their spells deterring the shuffling horse gathered outside. They pulled the doors shut, which were subsequently barricaded by Bull with a thick wooden beam. Behind the barrier, the moans turned angrier and nails began to scratch at the wood.

They pressed forward, the tension palpable among them. The cave's walls were slimy, shimmering in the flaming orbs conjured by the mages to guide their way. They were forced to walk behind each other in the narrow passages and awkwardly had to double back multiple times as they got turned around in the winding corridors. More of the dead were here; men, women, and children rising to their lumbering feet at their approach. In here, there were the remains of cooking sites and sleeping places. Bull commented on their presence, but Elsa could no longer think of the implications it had, not for the moment. The damp air made it hard to breath, the stench of rot inflamed her nausea… She wanted to be out of here as soon as possible.

They continued to move forward, finding their way down wooden slopes connecting the deeper levels of the cave system. The boards were slippery and wet. Varric held out his hand to her, his sturdy fingers offering her some stability as they held on to her own, and they carefully found their way down. She cast him a grateful smile when they reached the bottom and stepped out into the vaulted hall of an ancient ruin. He returned it only for a moment, before his eyes opened wide in shock.

Elsa could not turn around in time to see the shape fall. It crashed through the old wood they'd just walked across, decimating the path leading back up. She watched it lie on the wet, stone ground, its lifeless shape momentarily still. Then the corpse raised its head, and let out a harrowing scream.

The residents of Old Crestwood had broken through the door and followed them inside. More of them dropped down, flinging themselves from the edge above in blind pursuit. They fell on the ground and on top of each other, further hitting the beams and boards in their way. Some got skewered on broken pieces of wood or smashed to bits as they hit the walls or ground. Elsa felt Varric pull her backwards to save her from the shower of dead skin and congealed blood, several black drops landing in her hair and on her arms. The more of them dropped down, the less damaged they arrived, their predecessors functioning as a cushion to soften their fall. They rose up, stumbling across the other bodies flailing ineffectively on the ground beneath them, their possessed minds on a single purpose alone — to keep them from closing the rift.

"Let's go!" Hawke shouted, her wet hair glistening in the reflection of her fire. She lobbed the fireball in the direction of the horde, but the ones she incinerated were quickly replaced.

They ran, the mark burning incessantly on Elsa's hand. They rounded a corner, then another, until finally she caught it from the corner of her eyes. Crackling and churning, it hung suspended in a large chamber off their left, barely visible through the small crack in the stone door. She skidded to a halt, causing Varric to bump into her. The rest of the party had run past, not having noticed the green glimmer without a burning scar to alert them to it. She called out to them and they halted, then quickly turned around to make their way back to them.

Suddenly, they were everywhere. The dead rushed in from behind and around the corners, clawed their way out of cracks in the walls and even the floor. The rift hissed behind her, spouting more demons as it seemingly fought for its right to remain open. More rapid than their rotten bodies should allow, the horde closed in around them, their sunken, unseeing eyes staring blankly in their direction. Elsa stepped back, Varric's side pressed against hers, her bow and arrow shaking in her hands. She released an arrow, loaded another; one after another the shambling corpses stumbled, momentarily slowed by the projectiles piercing their limbs, yet it did not keep others from climbing over them. Varric reached into his pouch and pulled forth a potion, lobbing it into the crowd. It exploded with a bang, trembling the old walls around them, but the same held true. They continued to advance, undeterred by whatever resistance they could offer. One of them grabbed her cloak, another her arm. They tried to take her weapon, which she stubbornly held onto as tears streaked down her face. Slowly, but surely, the feeling of Varric's shape distanced itself from her, instead replaced by cold, wet hands with sharp nails that scratched at her skin as she was drawn towards the empty eyes.

A blaze of gold and crimson made her turn her head, its heat burning her face and arms. The grasp on her clothing lessened, then fell away, as did the tugging on her weapon and hair. She forced her eyes open, squinting against the blinding light. Cassandra and Bull were fighting, cleaving through and smashing their assailants with the same primal force that had scared Elsa when she first saw the Seeker in action. Dorian guarded them in their efforts, focusing on their defences and providing support.

Hawke emerged from the skirmish, her body tall and staff in hand. Her eyes were fire, commanding a fiery lasso that whipped around her in spiralling arcs. It caused the shamblers to stumble backwards, shielding their lidless eyes from the blinding inferno. Elsa steeled herself in the heat of the flames, feeling Bull's war cry course through her system once again. She readied her bow and helped where she could, rapidly emptying out the remainder of her quiver.

Then, a raw, guttural sound, made her jump. She whirled around, tightening the bowstring in anticipation of the enemy approaching from behind. Except it was no enemy. The corpses continued to retreat, bumping into each other to escape the fiery whip that still emanated from Hawke's staff. Varric stumbled out from among them, having been released from their grip like she had. He remained frozen in place for a long few seconds, until his knees buckled and he slumped to the floor. He lay on the ground among the corpses' shuffling feet, his open shirt red and glistening from the blood that poured out of jagged slashes across his chest.

"Varric!"

Her scream alerted Hawke, whose attention had been somewhere else in the crowd. The mage yelled an order at Bull, who broke away from the fight at her command and began to focus his efforts on wrenching the door open, behind which the rift was crackling furiously. Elsa ran over to the dwarf's lifeless body and, sweat beading on her brow, tried to drag him away from the stumbling horde. Sounds behind her signalled the sliding away of the stone panel, feet running inside of the other room, then a sharp hand jerking her backwards.

"No! I need to help him!"

"You need to close that thing," Hawke hissed. "Go!"

Elsa let her shove her away and got to her feet. Iron Bull lifted the dwarf in his arms. Although the flaming lasso began to lose strength, Hawke stubbornly pressed on, protecting the Qunari as he brought her friend into the other room and pushed the door shut behind them.

There was only a moment of quiet, for the rift itself had not ceased to produce new demons clawing up from the ground and cracks in the air. Elsa stood frozen, watching three rage demons and a fear demon materialise before them, while the blood pooled out from under Varric's back. Hawke was by his side, downing a lyrium potion with one hand while her other did not cease to glow with soothing blue light. She muttered incantations, refusing to be distracted by the sounds of the demons that made their way past the other three and started closing in on their location. Then she got up, gestured to erect a ward around the dwarf, and grabbed her staff. Her other hand reached into her pouch again for another large lyrium potion, which she drank in a single take.

"Focus," she told Elsa, firmly taking hold of her upper arm. "He won't live if we don't get out of here."

Elsa nodded, violently smashing the fear that had climbed into her chest down into her stomach. A quick shake of her quiver told her she had five arrows left. One pierced the rage demon gliding towards her between the eyes. The second grazed the fear demon as it vanished just in time. It was vanquished by her third as soon as it reemerged. Another wave of demons rose up in response; fleshy, spindly things that reminded her of Envy's true form. Her fourth pierced one in the throat, making it an easy target for Bull's axe to cleave into its head. The fifth hit the second square in the chest while flames enveloped it. She raised her hand, and the rift snapped shut, casting the entire ruin in deafening silence.

o - o - o

Iron Bull carried Varric out under Hawke's watchful eye. With the rift gone, the remainder of the dead had lost their purpose, making them easy targets for Dorian's hexes and Cassandra's precise blade. Elsa walked closely behind the Qunari, watching Varric's boots dangle limply over the edge of his arm. She silently prayed, any prayer that she could recall, wishing more than ever that the Maker had not abandoned his throne and that perhaps Andraste did care for their survival. _Don't waste your time with me. Please… just save him._

They found their way back to the village, emerging from the ruins in the hills above where they were no longer greeted by the rain. Instead, the night had quieted, showing little evidence of the events that had befallen the area. Drops of rain lingered on the plants and trees, shining like stars as they reflected the dazzling light from the moon, no longer hampered by the thick blanket of clouds.

They reentered the cabin that had been made available to them, while Cassandra went to find the mayor. Bull placed Varric on the only proper bed. Elsa had been allowed to make use of it previously, while the rest of them had spread out their bedrolls around it. Hawke immediately sat down with him, resuming her incantations. Dorian knelt down beside her, placing a hand on her leg, and urged her to take a break. She shook her head, instead requesting one of his lyrium potions. He hesitated, but obliged, and she emptied it like she had the others. The dwarf's breath slowly steadied under her attentions, the wounds further knitting shut. Suddenly he inhaled deeply, his eyes snapping open with a start.

"Wh… w'happened?"

"You're an idiot who doesn't wear armour is what happened," the mage scolded him.

He grinned, then groaned. "Feels like a bad one."

"Yep… Gonna take a while."

"Don't overdo it, Hawke. I'll be alright."

"Shut up and go to sleep."

o - o - o

Cassandra returned not long after she'd gone, with the news that the mayor had disappeared. This surprised no one. Elsa made the brief mental note to send word to the Inquisition to follow up on the matter. Cassandra remained for a short while, uncomfortably staring down at Varric's sleeping form, then went into the other room.

For the next few hours, neither Hawke nor Elsa left Varric's side. The former continued to mutter incantations, pausing every so often to regain her energy. The toll it was taking on her became more evident with each repeat, but there was nothing anyone could say to make her stop. Elsa was unsure whether the mage wanted her there with them. The atmosphere between her and the dwarf felt strangely intimate, but she hadn't told her to leave. As long as that was the case, Elsa stayed where she was, continuing her prayers and feeling completely helpless. Dorian had eventually gone to rest at the other end of the room, while Bull sat slumped against the wall, his chin dropping ever lower to his chest.

"You can go sleep too, you know," the mage said quietly, dabbing Varric's forehead with a cloth. "He'll be back on his feet soon."

"I don't think I could sleep now," Elsa sighed.

"Think you'll dream?"

"… Yeah. I just feel so useless. I keep thinking I could have done something to prevent it."

Hawke's eyebrows rose a tick, but she didn't speak. Instead, she rearranged the blanket, then placed her hand once again on the fresh scars. She closed her eyes and a blue light pulled across her fingers, gently illuminating the dwarf's chest.

"Do you know how magic works?" she asked, not opening her eyes.

Elsa glanced over at Dorian and Bull, but both seemed sound asleep. "Not really. When I hear mages talk, it doesn't make a lot of sense."

"Hmm…." Hawke murmured. Her lips continued to move without producing sound. The blue light intensified, then died down. "Perhaps think of it this way then. Do you know how templars negate our skills?"

"… Sort of. They reinforce reality, blocking your connection to the Fade by strengthening the Veil."

"Our connection. But yes, that's about correct. From that, can you imagine what doing magic is like then?"

Elsa thought, watching the mage's hand light up once more. The Veil stirred, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a pebble. She wasn't summoning at her full power, not by a long shot. This was a soothing current, something to aid along the natural regenerative capabilities of Varric's body, rather than forcing his wounds closed by external force.

"You… conjure another reality?"

"We," she insisted, "can imagine _this_ reality to be something that is not apparent to others. The Fade and our world are not separate rooms, meeting once in a while when a door opens. They are two places occupying the same space, inextricably linked. What we do, is accept that malleability and use it to our advantage."

Elsa chewed the inside of her lip, growing anxious under the mage's continued observation. She averted her eyes from the other woman and focused on Varric instead, letting them drift over his sleeping face.

"There is something you could have done."

Her head snapped back up. The mage had not stopped watching her, her expression uncharacteristically serious. Her eyebrows sharply framed her tired eyes, which were no less vibrant despite her exhaustion.

"What?" she laughed. "Were you expecting me to console you? Pat you on the back and say you're fine?"

"I… do you blame me for —"

"No, not at all," Hawke said, in a way that gave Elsa little reason to doubt her sincerity. "Rogues and archers are always the first to go down, especially ones who insist on sharing their chest hair with the world as much as this one. But that doesn't change that you could have done something. You have skills available to you that are much more effective than archery in a number of situations."

"I… I don't. You don't understand, I have no talent. I am not like you or Dor—"

"You won't know that until you try it."

"I can't." She got up, though she wasn't immediately sure why. All she knew, was that she had to get out of this room and away from this conversation. "I'm sorry."

"Because of your sister?"

Elsa stared at her.

"The sooner you deal with that the better, you know," the mage continued. "Take it from someone who doesn't deal with anything in a healthy way."

Elsa walked around the bed, stepping over the bundle of blankets that was Dorian, and left the room. Cassandra had fallen asleep at the table, her face resting on an open book. Elsa glanced the page as she walked by. _Swords and Shields._

She left the village, barely taking note of the absent rain. A cool breeze blew in from the valley below, carrying the watery smell from Old Crestwood into the hills. They would need to send a team in there to clear it out, return any bodies to living family members for whom it was still possible. Undoubtedly there was more concrete evidence of the mayor's decisions down there as well. Elsa stared at the ruined village, her chest pulsing with a familiar, dull ache.

A faint shimmer caught her attention. Under a tree, not far from where she was standing, a cluster of mushrooms glowed faintly in the light of the moon. They grew at the foot of the large oak and upwards along its side. As she continued to look, she saw more and more of them, their blue fluorescence not unlike Hawke's healing light. She walked back to the cabin, grabbed her bag, and returned to the field. By the time the sun rose above the horizon, unimaginably large in the pink and purple sky as if to celebrate the absence of the storm, her knees and back were sore and her bag and pockets filled to the brim with her glowing harvest.

She returned to the cabin, where Hawke had fallen asleep next to Varric. Her legs remained to the side, feet resting on the floor at a tilt, while her head lay nestled in the nook between the dwarf's chest and shoulder. He had his face turned towards her, nuzzling the top of her head. His large hand lay idly on her side.

Elsa sat at the table opposite the sleeping Seeker and found a piece of vellum and ink. With speed and precision she drafted her report, easily following Cullen's guidelines without needing to consider them. With the general state of events out of the way, she grabbed another sheet. Her quill hovered above the page for a moment, then she wrote:

* * *

_Dear Cullen,_

_As you can read from the enclosed report, our trip to Crestwood has not gone completely according to plan. I'd call it a disaster, except I suppose we have managed to close the rift and rid the village of bandits. Please, as soon as you can, send forces in this direction to help stabilise the area. Do not worry about me though, I am okay. I just find it difficult to see the bright side as long as Varric is not awake and cracking jokes like normal. Hawke says it shouldn't take too long. We will track down her Warden as soon as he is back on his feet and then make our way back to Skyhold. Without the storm to slow us down, I am hopeful the way back will take us less than a fortnight._

_If it is okay with you, I would like to see you upon our return. While it has taken me far too long, I have managed to procure the ingredients I need for a remedy against lyrium withdrawal. It won't fix everything, but it may help in your day-to-day. I hope you can forgive my neglect since mentioning it first and that you will let me support you in this. Your well-being is important to me._

_With love,_

_Elsa_

o - o - o

His reply came several days later, handed to her by scout Harding as her team bustled around them to clean their newly claimed keep. On top was a formal response to her report and the team, congratulating them on their accomplishment and a timeline for when the Inquisition's troops would arrive in the area. Hidden behind, was the note to her. It was clean, with no apparent smudges or marks whatsoever. He had rewritten it at least once.

* * *

_Dear Elsa,_

_You have nothing to apologise for. Please come find me in my office upon your return, no matter the hour. Take care of yourself and know that you are in my thoughts until then._

_Yours truly,_

_Cullen_


	27. A New Leaf

Cullen sat at his desk, staring at the note in his hand. Her report was professional, detached, even when she detailed a horde of undead chasing them down and Varric getting injured. He hadn't expected her to write an accompanying letter — she hadn't done so since her first trips to the Hinterlands. He'd panicked a little when he saw it, his thoughts immediately jumping to her well-being and what the trip might've done to her. He'd silently cursed Hawke for not protecting them; the rest of the team for not taking care of her; himself for not sending soldiers with them or finding a way to join them himself. Then he read it, and read it again. She sounded tired, worried about Varric, but all things considered… she seemed alright.

Then there was the second part, which he scrutinised for so long that afterwards he didn't dare make an estimation of how long exactly. There was no doubt he should have spent that amount of time much more productively. He had wondered, of course, after she had stood before him in her half-finished dress, what remedies she knew and what ingredients she'd need. He hadn't wanted to bring it up again — surely she had more important things on her mind — and she seemed to have quite forgotten. He couldn't blame her, not really, though to say he hadn't been disappointed would be a lie. But here it was… she'd remembered. And his well-being was, still, important to her. His heart beat noticeably in his chest, as if wanting to remind him it was there.

Did he want her help? He wasn't sure what it entailed, which made him nervous. So far, none of his daydreams of her had turned out how he'd expected or hoped. It was unlikely this one would be different. Yet his headache answered for him; he'd have to hear her out, at least. He picked up his quill to draft a reply, letting it hover above the page so long the ink dripped onto the paper. He sighed, crumpled it up, tossed it to the side, and took another sheet from the stack. He thought first this time, leaving the quill on the table until he was ready. He picked it up again, and wrote:

_Inquisitor_

He paused. She'd called him by his name, not even using his title. Did she mean something by that? The answer was that of course she did; he knew her well enough by now to know she didn't say or write anything without purpose. It'd be weird for him to stick to her title… Wouldn't it?

He sighed, crumpled it up, tossed it, and took another.

He tried again, starting with her name this time. _Wait… Just Elsa, or Dear Elsa? That's what she did…_ He read her note again, ink staining his fingers as he absentmindedly held the quill between them. He added the adjective, a little cramped towards the edge of the page. It was too obvious.

Sigh, crumple it, toss it. Another.

_I appreciate your concern, but I am fine._

His hand had moved automatically while his thoughts continued to consider the salutations. It was a reflex, one trained over years of practice, but not one he had wanted to utilise in this moment.

Exhale, crumple it, toss it. Another.

_Hope your travel goes smoothly. Come see me when you want, I'll be waiting._

He squinted at it. No, he definitely sounded like a creep. Groan, crumple, toss. Another.

_I would like to see you too. Meet me in my office when you return, I'll look forward to what you have planned._

The shredded scraps of paper flew up in the air and drifted to the floor.

The process continued and the pile in the waste basket grew at an alarming rate. It went on for the night, until he'd turned over and reconsidered every word. Eventually he gave up, wrote down his last version with what ink remained in the pot on his desk, and sent it off. He regretted it the moment he did, and continued to dwell on it for days to come.

_No matter the hour?_ What in the Void had he been thinking? What would _she_ think? That he was issuing her some kind of midnight invitation to his room? He wracked his brain trying to remember his own reasoning. She would be coming in from their camp in the foothills, a day's ride away. She would arrive late. She had said she wanted to see him upon her return; he had wanted to indicate she did not need to wait until the next day if she didn't want to. But of course she'd want to — she would be exhausted. Would she feel pressured to come to him now, at night, with Maker knows what sorts of implications she would deduce from his fumbled words?

What if he wasn't in his office when she arrived? It was likely he would be, given her estimated time of arrival, but not a guarantee. Now he had to be sure he was there for the nights to come, or she would need to go around looking for him. How would it reflect on him otherwise, if he made her run around the keep after explicitly telling her he would be waiting for her?

She might just go to bed, like a normal person would, and find him later. Maybe he was getting worried for no reason.

_Unlikely._

"Commander?"

He blinked, and stared at the women before him. Their expressions matched the hardness that had settled in his spine and undoubtedly overflowed onto his face. The headache drummed on his temples, his breath was constricted, but he forced his mind on the issue before him.

"I cannot believe we are even discussing this."

"With our approaches, we gain an asset to directly influence the Venatori," said Leliana, her voice melodic despite the frustration that had manifested itself over the course of the discussion. "With yours, Ferelden gains a corpse."

"And we uphold some principles," Cullen snapped, his fist pressing hard on the table. "Why should this man be treated any differently than Denam?"

"Arl Wulff appears truly repentant for his actions," Josephine chimed in. Cullen did not bother to suppress the derision in his laugh; the Ambassador's tendency to excuse the nobility for their behaviour never failed to astonish him. She let out a small, contained exhale through her nose in response. "He did not feed anyone lyrium. He was under the impression the Venatori were to take the mages to Tevinter," she finished her argument.

"And you believe him," Cullen scoffed. "What kind of organisation are we, if we ally with those who conspired with our enemy? The blood that is on his hands —"

"The evidence suggests his intentions were true," Leliana countered, folding her arms before her. The Nightingale did not need to raise her voice, like he had. Her hands usually remained clasped behind her back — a habit of any bard perhaps, limiting the information she provided to the outside world. Her stance now, meaningless when adopted by another, clearly signalled her resolve on the matter, and the impending end of the fight. He knew what her next words were going to be before she spoke them. "We shall leave the decision to the Inquisitor."

_You are outnumbered, Cullen…_

"So we shall," he replied through gritted teeth.

_Training. I need to train._

It was his favourite task, the one that reminded him most of why he'd ever chosen a life of service. There was great satisfaction in the simplicity of it, much like whenever a report came back detailing the successful resolve of an issue Elsa had asked him to take care of. Unlike when the other advisers handled something, his men acted swiftly and provided a clear resolution. In his mind, it was infinitely preferable over a vague promise from some noble for another time, or a bit of information that _might_ be of use to them later. They reclaimed quarries, built housing, hunted down maleficarum — concrete, tangible results. He liked this clarity, as much as he liked seeing a soldier pull off a tricky move after he'd practised it with them.

He continued to take solace in his skill with the blade, ever reliable even in the absence of lyrium, and his ability to impart that skill onto others. He relished the company of his soldiers and the familiarity that it brought. After all, it had been his stability for most of his life. Even the army of templars that had finally taken residence in the keep, despite all that had occurred, provided a welcome source of comfort.

"Ser."

"Barris." Cullen scanned the grounds. He'd gone over the roster that morning, but right now he could not remember what training was supposed to take place. _Damn it…_ "What is on the schedule today?" he asked, ignoring the flush creeping up the back of his neck.

"I am expecting Sergeant Avery and her squad back by this afternoon," Barris reported, walking with him to the ring. "Will you want to debrief her yourself, or shall I get you the report?"

Cullen considered the question, looking down on the bracer he'd begun to remove. His thumb stroked the embossed shape… He still hadn't repaired it.

_How different is it, really?_

"She is under your command, Knight-Captain," he replied. "Hearing your report will be enough. Can you get it to me by tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, ser. Other than that, as per the schedule, Lieutenant Horace and I will be focusing on defence techniques against hexes with the Inquisition's soldiers you've selected."

Cullen glanced over to the templar knight working in the lower grounds. He was one of the few veterans, together with Barris, who had survived Haven. The man was tall, with dark hair that no longer grew at the place where a shining burn adorned his face. He'd received it during the attack. Patching it up was the best the healers had been able to do in the moment. Now that the scar had formed, there was little left that could improve it.

"Any trouble?"

Horace was correcting a recruit's stance, urging the man's legs into the right position by direction of the wooden sword he was holding. Though he had a grim expression, emphasised by his missing eyebrow, he did not appear impatient.

"No, ser," Barris said, lowering his voice. "I do not believe so. Some knights are looking forward to the Inquisitor's return. They hope she will join them in archery training one of these days."

"I will relay the message when she returns," he huffed, picturing Elsa's response when he would. "It should be any day now."

"The knights will be pleased," Barris said, bowing slightly. "I will inform you if it changes, ser, but I see no cause for concern. They know to whom they are indebted."

"Very well," Cullen said, taking a wooden sword from the supply. "Carry on, Barris."

The knight saluted, fist against breastplate, and went to join his colleague in the grounds below. Cullen watched them as they split the recruits into two groups. They were imposing in full plate, the sun reflecting brightly off of the flaming swords on their chests. His men were working hard to impress them, listening intently to every word they said. He allowed himself a brief moment of melancholy for what he once was, or rather, what he had wished to be. As the years passed, more often than not, the people's response of awe had been replaced by one of fear.

He made the rounds on the upper level where the newer recruits trained with dummies — correcting techniques, adjusting stances, demonstrating attacks. Once he'd seen enough, he picked one of them for a sparring match. The others gathered around, watching their colleague attempt to parry his attacks. Cullen paused after every round to explain the woman's mistakes, to demonstrate alternative moves he could have made, or point out opportunities they needed to look out for. Men and women nodded, murmuring to each other and mimicking his moves with their own hand as he explained the techniques. He offered a hand to his sparring partner — Marle, a young Orlesian with some duelling experience — and pulled her up after knocking her down once more. She sprung to her feet, a want burning in her eyes to best him this time. He clapped her on the shoulder and they continued, until his muscles ached in satisfaction and she managed to counter his attacks five times in a row.

The effort required to force himself back to his tower each evening was not lost on him. Though he'd spent an increasing amount of his day with paperwork as he climbed the ranks of the Order, it had never taken up as much time as it did now. It wasn't why he wanted this life, not even close. Yet it was an unfortunate reality of anyone rising to a position of power; one ended up spending less time actually working, and more time managing others to do said work for you. He knew there was satisfaction to be had in such a role as well, yet he resented it nonetheless.

As a general rule, he left the door open. It had taken some effort to teach his runners and lieutenants that this did not equal an invitation to barge in unannounced. Although some were slow to learn, he preferred providing the occasional verbal lashing over having to miss the wind blowing in. His eyes fell on the waste paper basket, still filled with crumpled sheets of vellum that rustled in the breeze. A twinge of guilt twisted in his chest, scolding him for his wasteful use of the supply.

What clarity he found with his soldiers soon slipped away whenever he sat down at his desk. The stress it brought was hard to break free from and further fuelled by additional disagreements in the war room and a growing pile of reports that became increasingly challenging to manage. He sighed deeply, the burn in his muscles quickly replacing itself with tension, and began the familiar struggle to understand the handwriting of his officers, one more illegible than the next, while the letters danced between the spots in his vision.

He read the same report three times, without absorbing the information. Though he knew perfectly well what the words meant individually, somehow they were not sticking together in his mind to form a greater whole. He rested his head in his hands, massaging his temples.

_This can't go on much longer._

He didn't know what the consequence of that thought should be, but it slowly grew more evident that one was forthcoming. If Elsa's help, which sounded far from being a solution, wasn't effective, then it would have to be something else. His philter found a way onto his desk increasingly often, without him having conscious recollection of putting it there. Perhaps, as a temporary measure, he could ask Hawke —

"Commander?"

He raised his head with a snap, ready to give the intruder an earful.

"Forgive me." Elsa lingered on the threshold, not stepping inside until told otherwise. He bit his tongue in a reflex to restrain his ire. "I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you didn't hear me knock."

"… Inquisitor. You're back."

"Can I come in?"

"Yes," he said, getting up too quickly. He grabbed the edge of the table, steadying himself. "Please do."

"Thank you."

She closed the door behind her with care, one hand supporting the bag hanging off her shoulder. When she turned around she looked him over first, a short breath raising her chest, then her eyes swept the room. It wasn't much yet — a desk, a largely empty bookcase where he kept his files, a trunk in the corner. More apparent were the lingering bits of rubble and the cloth covered crates and barrels he hadn't had removed yet.

"It's a little dark in here," she said hesitantly. "Don't you need some better lighting? Maybe an extra torch or a chandelier?"

"It's on my list," he assured her. With the mountain of paperwork weighing him down, he hadn't gotten round to minor concerns yet. "Not a chandelier… but I will add some torches."

"That's good," she said, stroking a lock of hair back. It was clean, shining in the candlelight, and she wasn't in armour.

"When did you arrive?"

"About an hour ago. I hope you weren't waiting for me. I figured I should wash up after a day of riding before calling on you."

Her careful smile was disarming. "No," he said quickly. "I wasn't. I mean – what I wrote, I only meant that you didn't need to wait if you wanted to talk to me."

She blinked, once. "I know. Thank you."

"Oh. Alright."

Elsa shifted her weight. The large bag slipped a little from her shoulder and she pulled it back up. "So… I have some things with me," she said, patting it with her palm. "I need a surface to prepare on. Is… now a good time? I mean, are you done for the day?"

He glanced at his overflowing desk, with the aggravating report on top of a bunch of others. "Yes," he sighed, "I'm done for the day."

"Okay. Well, your desk seems a little full," she murmured, following his gaze. "Is the upper level usable?"

"Ah. I… sleep there. I, eh… I have a crate."

"… For sleeping?"

"What? No. No, for keeping things on. You —" He paused when he caught her expression, a playful smirk he had not seen in weeks. "Ah… you're joking."

"I confess I am." She stepped towards him, grey eyes sparking mischievously. "Sorry."

"That's alright," he chuckled. "You… seem well. I'm glad."

"I wish I could say the same," she sighed, tilting her head. "Forgive me, but you don't look so good."

"I am —" He caught himself and swallowed away his denial. She was here for a reason, no need to beat around the bush. "Unfortunately… I've been having some difficulties."

"Of course," she said quietly. She sucked in her lower lip, a frown knotting her forehead. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your responsibility, Inquisi—"

Her hand touched his chest, freezing his breath. It lingered there for a long moment, her slender fingers pressing lightly into his tunic. The fabric was cold against his skin, not quite dry yet from the sweat he'd worked up in training. He couldn't see her face, for she kept her head bowed.

"Let's go up."

She retracted her hand and moved to the ladder, where she began the climb to his quarters. He offered to take the bag, which swung heavily from her shoulder, but she refused. Anxious and a little confused, he followed her up, trying to remember the state he'd left his room in that morning.

It wasn't too bad — it helped he didn't have much up here either. His armour was put away properly and the bed, no longer just a mattress on the floor, was made. He had some papers lying next to it and rubble from the caved in ceiling in the corners… it could be worse.

Elsa walked into the room, looking around. Her eyes fell on the debris, drifted upwards to the hole, then followed the moonlight to his bed. She turned to face him as he reached the landing and straightened himself up.

"How come that isn't fixed yet?" she asked, pointing upwards. "It's freezing in here."

"Ah…" Cullen cleared his throat. "I haven't given the order. I… prefer it like this." Her eyebrows rose slowly; clearly she was expecting further explanation. He sighed, reaching for the flush in his neck. "It's —"

"It's alright," she interrupted him. He sighed with relief at her gentle smile, grateful he didn't have to get into it now. "Do you mind if I borrow your mantle?"

He fetched it while she sat down on the edge of the bed, straightening out her skirt and placing the bag on the ground beside her. Without waiting for further confirmation from his end, she pulled the crate he used as a bedside table towards her, moved the candle stump to the side, and began to set up her equipment. A small set of scales, a mortar and pestle, a brewing bowl on a stand, a set of vials, a flask — "Just water," she explained — and a strong-smelling pouch that he assumed were the ingredients.

"There is more," she said, gesturing at the bag. "It should last a long time, if you keep it somewhere dry."

She took the cloak from him, draped it around her shoulders, and motioned for him to sit with her. He did, unsure of what distance to keep. The bed sagged as he put his weight down next to hers, causing her to shift a little in his direction. He'd be able to touch her knee with his own if he pushed it outwards, but she didn't comment. Instead, she reached into the pouch and pulled out a small handful of shrivelled ingredients.

"Deep mushrooms?" he asked, recognising the smell.

"Ghoul's variety," she murmured, weighing them on the scales. "One of the few that ventures out onto the surface. Probably due to the weather Crestwood had for such a long time. I haven't ever seen such a large supply."

"Aren't they poisonous?"

"Yes, if consumed in larger quantities. You'll want to be very careful." She took one of the dried mushrooms, broke off a piece, and replaced the remainder on the scale, carefully checking the measurement. The process was repeated a couple of times, until the scale was exactly level with the counterweight. "They're used in lyrium potions as a binding substance for the crystal, as well as a catalyst for its properties. But they have effects in their own right. Strong doses may lead to hallucinations, but in smaller quantities it can act as a sedative or a mood enhancer."

"My mood is fine," he protested.

"I mean, it can help calm your mind," she said gently, her eyes briefly flashing from her work to him. "Help you focus."

Her hands shifted the contents from the scale to the mortar and pestle, where she began to pulverise them.

"Can you tell me?" she asked. "What your symptoms are?"

"Ah…" He prodded the floorboard with his foot. "Well… headaches mainly. Tremors, once in a while. I don't sleep well and that makes things worse. I…" He paused. Could he really tell her he was forgetting things? It was only minor stuff so far, at least as far as he was aware of. Was this a performance evaluation?

"Any dizziness?"

"Some."

"Disorientation?"

"Yeah."

"Forgetfulness?"

"…Yes," he admitted. She'd rattled off the questions as if reading from a script. "How do you know so much about this?"

"My brother," she muttered, her arm deftly working the pestle. "Nicolai, he's the second. He went through templar training, but my parents didn't let him join the Order. He started using lyrium anyway, but his supply is not steady. He will take a lot when he can get his hands on it, then go without for weeks on end… It's a problem. When he doesn't use it, he drinks instead."

He stared at her, surprised at her sudden openness. "Why didn't they let him join?"

"It's not his job. He is the second in line, after Jon, the eldest. If Nic would take vows, he'd promise to never hold lands or a title. They couldn't risk that. As it is, he has nothing to do, no real purpose to serve."

"That… sounds terrible."

"He could have made different choices for himself within those circumstances," she sighed, "but… I agree. I always felt bad for him."

"How does he get lyrium?"

"Influence can get you anything," she said wryly.

He stopped talking, allowing her to focus on transferring the fine powder from the mortar to the brewing bowl. She measured seven vials of water and carefully added them to it, stirring the mixture with a small spoon. She then picked up his candle stump and handed it over.

"… Could you?"

"Ah, of course. Can you hand me the fire sticks over there?"

She looked at the ground where he was pointing, but did not notice the box lying underneath the documents. "Where?"

"Just, over there… excuse me."

He reached across her lap to push aside the papers and pick it up. Her body stiffened as his side pressed against her, but she didn't lean away. He caught her eye when he retreated, but quickly averted his gaze, feeling heat rush to his face. She shifted a little beside him without speaking, pulling the cloak closer around her, while he struck the tip of a sulphur match with his fire steel, and used it to light the candle. She thanked him when he handed it to her, and placed it under the bowl.

"This will take a while."

A moment of silence followed in which she monitored the brew, which slowly began to bubble under the heat of the candle. Her hands were in her lap, where they played absentmindedly with the pestle. The candlelight reflected off her eyes, colouring them a muted copper. Her silver hair flowed through the darkened crimson of his cloak. He felt the overwhelming urge to keep her here forever, just as she was. Frozen in time, like a painting, there for him to simply look at her when he wanted to.

He startled when she suddenly turned towards him. Her knee grazed along the side of his thigh as she pulled one of her legs onto the bed, folding it in front of her. He was in constant physical contact with his soldiers during training, both men and women — adjusting their posture, encouraging them, moving their hands to illustrate a move or change their grip. He was barely aware of it. Yet every touch from Elsa, no matter how careless or accidental, lit up his senses like he'd just taken a dose of lyrium. He breathed to still the beating of his heart, with little success. _She's the Inquisitor. She's just here to help. Control yourself, man._

"Can we play the question game again?" she asked.

"I'm sorry?"

She looked away, cheeks flushing. "Sorry, maybe it's silly."

"Oh! No, I just misunderstood. Eh… sure."

Her expression, so quickly to shift, settled into a warm, relieved smile.

"Alright," she said, looking up as she pressed the tips of her fingers together. "I'll go first."

"You just asked me a bunch of questions though."

Her eyes narrowed, scrutinising his. "I believe it was fairly balanced."

"No, you definitely asked me more. More personal, too."

Her laughter filled the room. "Cullen," she giggled, "you've been practising!"

The tension seemed to evaporate between them and he exhaled slowly in relief. He'd missed the sound of her, but he hadn't realised how much. "It's nice to see you smile again, Elsa."

"Yeah," she nodded. "Same."

"Did something happen on your trip?"

"Many things happened on my trip." He rolled his eyes, which earned him another giggle. "But that's a big question," she warned him, stifling her laughter behind her hand. "I get one after."

"Fair enough. If I'm satisfied with your answer."

"I never provide unsatisfying answers, ser knight," she said, raising her chin. "Curb your insolence."

"Certainly the lady is not trying to dodge the question now?" he countered. "Not when she initiated the game to begin with?"

"Alright, alright," she chuckled. His cloak rose with her sigh, while she looked off to the side. "Where to start…"

"How was travelling with Hawke?"

"Sub-questions," she murmured. "How devious."

"Just being helpful."

She smirked, then let the expression fade. "It was interesting. I don't think we'll ever be great friends, but I learned a lot. She's very… professional."

He ruminated on that description of Hawke. It was one at odds with her general outward appearance. Yet he'd never doubted her when she'd handled a job for him in Kirkwall, always reporting back in a timely fashion and with a desirable result.

"When Varric got hurt," Elsa continued, faint lines creasing the corners of her eyes, "I was so scared. But she remained completely calm, focused on finishing the job. It was… inspiring." She exhaled a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders. "The way she handles her team… I thought it was fine before, with Solas, Cassandra and Varric, but the difference was night and day. I… don't recall Therinfal well, but I think it was different there too. You led in a similar way as she does. It's amazing, really."

"It comes with practice," he shrugged. "Hawke has been doing this kind of thing for a long time."

"I think there's more to it than that…" She thought, pursing her lips, reaching for the right words. "Hawke… I'm not sure how much she cares for the world at large, but she does care about her people. I am good at seeing the bigger picture, but I… I don't think I considered those around me enough until now. Sitting next to Varric, not able to do anything, not knowing if I could speak to him again… It was horrible. Worse than a thousand red templars or any demon."

"Is he okay now?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Thank the Maker. Hawke fussed over him for the entire ride back. I wondered…" She paused, sucking in her lip. "Were they… involved, at any point?"

"Involved? I'm sure I wouldn't know if they were, but I doubt it. She's been with Fenris for a long time."

"Oh," she replied, blinking in surprise. "I just… they are so close. Like, physically also."

"Hawke is… easy-going in that regard," he said, pushing his hair back. He was all too aware of the Champion's cavalier attitude in that area, though he didn't feel inclined to share the particulars with Elsa. "I wouldn't read too much into it."

"I see…" she murmured, giving him a dark, considering look.

"Anyway…" He coughed to clear his throat, searching for something that would help them move on. "So, what does that mean now?"

"I'm not sure." Her attention was drawn to the faint sputtering sound of her brew. She moved the candle away from it for a while, letting the mixture cool, then placed it back again. "I don't know if I can have the same kind of connection with people here as she does, with my position. But I realised I wanted to be here for you when I returned."

The flush rushed the back of his neck, and crept its way up over the top of his ears. "Thank you," he said quietly. She nodded in silence, her eyes lingering on the candle despite there being little of interest there, as far as he could tell. "You… can ask your question now," he suggested. "I'm satisfied with your answer."

"Right," she smiled, meeting his eyes. "Very generous of you."

"You've earned it."

She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. He felt his guard rising, wondering what kind of question she could be gearing up for in such a way. There had been an unspoken agreement when they'd talked in the past to not probe into affairs either of them did not feel inclined to talk about. He wondered if the rules had changed, and whether he shouldn't have been consulted if that was the case.

"Before I do… I'd like to say something."

"… Alright."

"I, ehm…"

Her brow furrowed, her jaw sharpened. She considered her words, staring hard into his eyes. His hand unconsciously grasped the blanket beside him, bracing him for what was coming.

"I don't want you to call me by my title. Please."

"Your… what, you mean 'Inquisitor'?"

She nodded.

"… Ever?"

"Well… I suppose in meetings it can't be helped. Or in public in general. Just… not when we're alone."

"Oh," Cullen said, relaxing. "Okay. I can do that. Why?"

"I… need to be your equal. I don't know exactly how to navigate that, considering our work. But I want to try."

He didn't completely understand what had brought on this request, but he did not object. Instead, he held out his hand. She eyed it with mild confusion, then took it.

"Deal," he said quietly. "Equals."

"… Thank you."

A long moment passed, in which neither of them seemed inclined to let the other go. Her eyes searched his, no longer carrying any trace of the reservation they'd shown since she had accepted her position. Here was the girl whom he'd cleaned up the Chantry with at the end of the day, that he'd walked to her cabin night upon night, whom he'd almost kissed in the woods of the Southron Hills… that he'd shared his bed with, for a brief hour. He swallowed.

"We should… finish our game, right? Your turn?"

She looked down at their hands, nodding, waiting. Her shoulders rose and fell, and his cloak began to slip. Then, with little anticipation, she took his hand in both of her own, enveloping it with her cool touch, and drew it into her lap, pulling him slightly forward. He placed his other beside her on the bed in a reflex to balance himself.

"Elsa —"

Her head rested against his shoulder, her breath tickling his neck. Shivers ran down his spine, electrifying his nerves. He fought to steady his breath rapidly rising in his chest. Her smell, fresh like a spring morning, made his tired mind hazy.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm not ready to ask it yet."

He waited for her to elaborate, but she remained silent. "That's okay…" He untangled his hand from hers and wrapped his arms around her, bundling her up in his cloak. "That's okay."

Her trembling hands found their way around his sides, sliding up his back, and grabbed onto his shirt. She sighed heavily, burying her face in his neck, and pulled herself against him with force. He directed her legs over his lap, dragging her closer, and breathed in deeply from the top of her head.

"Can I stay here tonight?" Her voice was small, like that of a young bird.

"As long as you want."

_Forgive me if I never let you leave._

o - o - o

She slept in his bed that night, curled up into a ball, snuggled against his chest. They had untangled themselves eventually, her cheeks flushed, and she'd finished the mixture. She split the vials in two; half of them received barely more than a single sip of the extract, others were filled halfway up. A small one in the morning, a large one in the evening. No more. She'd been hesitant afterwards, perhaps considering if she should leave, but he had taken hold of her again and she had not resisted.

In the morning, he watched her hair change colour; going from deep blueish-grey, to violet, to pink, to yellow, and eventually, to gleaming, silvery white. He hadn't slept much, too disbelieving of his situation, but he hadn't dreamt either. It was a good morning. She raised her head, blinking slowly, momentarily confused when she saw him.

"Hey you."

"Good morning… how do you feel?"

"I feel fine," he sighed, stroking her hair. "Just fine."

"You should start taking it today." He hadn't the night before. If the mixture worked as a sedative, he had no wish to use it while she lay in his arms, no matter the consequences.

"I will, I promise. Thank you."

"It should be enough for a week… I'll teach you how to make it."

"Or… you could just come here again."

"I'll have to go out again at some point. You need to be able to do it."

"But as long as you _are_ here…"

A gentle smile spread across her face, lighting up her eyes. "I'd be happy to." She pushed herself up onto her elbows so she could look down on him. Her hands found the laces of his shirt. "My question… can I ask it now?"

"If you wish."

Elsa looked down at her fingers playing idly with the string. "When you suggested I learn to use magic, it was as the Inquisition's Commander." She paused, gauging his response. He tried to maintain a neutral expression, though he didn't doubt she noticed the brief tensing of his arms around her waist.

"It was. There was a fair argument for you learning it."

"I know," she nodded. "But… what do you want?"

"What do I want? I don't think it is my decision."

"No, I know. But —" She bit her lip. "If I did learn to use it, could you see me as anything but a mage?"

"Elsa," he chuckled, sliding his hand into the silver strands hanging down the side of her face. "Didn't you tell me not to waste a question on an answer you already know?"

"I guess I wasn't sure," she said quietly.

"Do you want to learn?"

"I haven't decided… and I don't even know if I can. But I wanted your opinion."

Cullen pulled her closer, pushing his hand deeper into her hair. She was careful, her fingers softly gripping the collar of his shirt. He caught her lips between his own, playing against them, urging them to part for him. A soft moan rose from her chest when he deepened the kiss, her body curving into him in response to his other hand sliding into the small of her back.

"There," he breathed, pushing his forehead against hers. "You have it."

o - o - o

He visited the Undercroft first thing that day. Harrit looked at the piece of armour, assessing the damage.

"Nasty cut, Commander," the blacksmith declared, holding the bracer up to the light, "but I can fix it up for you, no problem."

"Thank you. There is no immediate rush."

"I can start it today, but it'll take me some time to restore the design. Maybe two or three days?"

The embossed flames reflected brightly in the fire from the forge, sharply contrasting with the blackened slash cutting across them.

"That's alright, Harrit. Remove it."

"Aye, Commander. As you wish."


	28. Leap of Faith

Varric was in and out of consciousness for two days, not waking fully until the third. Hawke stepped out once he did, satisfied leaving him in Elsa's care for a while as she went to collect her Warden. Elsa sat down beside his bed, folding her arms in front of her on the mattress.

"Don't look so sad, Sterling," he said, the usual glimmer in his eyes faint, but unmistakable. "I'm not dead yet."

She shook her head, trying her best to return his smile. "Good. I'm not sure how I would have consoled Cassandra."

"I would've thought she'd be pleased."

"Think again, Master Tethras. You may need to continue your _Swords and Shields_ series."

He gave her a sceptical look. "Why would I want to do that?"

"It might be an olive branch between you two. She's a fan."

"The Seeker?" He let out a loud laugh, which quickly turned into a pained groan as he clutched his chest. "Shit, Sterling. Don't do that to me right now."

"I'm serious, she's reading the last one at the moment."

"Well, smack my ass and call me Viscount," he chuckled, "Who'd have thought…"

Elsa sat in silence beside him, watching the gears in his head turning at the bit of news. The corners of his mouth twitched in a contained smirk and his eyes flitted back and forth, chasing his thoughts. She sighed deeply, letting the fear of the past days slip from her shoulders.

"I'm sorry."

His eyebrows shot up as his gaze snapped towards her. "What for, Sterling?"

"For… many things. Keeping you at a distance. Getting upset with you, about Hawke. For not being able to prevent this… many things."

"…Sterling," he sighed. "Help me up, please."

She supported him as he pushed himself into a sitting position, and fluffed the pillow behind his back. He kept his hand to his chest, breathing hard under the minor motion, and let out a heavy sigh as he leaned against the wall.

"Phew… I'm not the youngest anymore."

"I'm sorry," she said again, rearranging the blanket.

"Oh, stop it." He waved her away. "I'm the one who should be apologising to you."

"What? How does that make any sense?"

"You've tried to isolate yourself before," he sighed, sinking a little deeper into his pillow. "I didn't let you then, but I did this time. I didn't want to push it, because I let you down and… well, frankly, I'm not sure how to do any of this. I've never followed a chosen one before."

"Please, don't you start with that too," she sighed. "I'm not."

"You are to the people out there, Sterling. The sky opening, an archdemon… those are signs of the end times for normal folk. Yet here you are. It's a little intimidating."

"But you know me," she said, exasperated. "I got excited climbing a bloody hill. I need a Qunari to toss me over his shoulder to scale a wall."

He laughed again, though more controlled, steadying his chest with his hand as a precaution. "You don't need to be a mountain goat to inspire a continent."

Elsa halted, searching for another objection, then laughed as the picture of a goat Inquisitor formed in her imagination. The dwarf chuckled along with her, but quieted before she did. When she wiped her eyes clear, he was looking at her with a knowing smile. It was one of the rare moments where she suddenly felt the age difference between them. His expression was one of fondness and pride — she recognised it for one she'd seen her brothers receive from their parents.

"Listen, Sterling," he said quietly. "As soon as we're back in Skyhold, we're going for a drink. I can't make sense of what happened to you, but I'm not sure I can do the whole disciple thing."

"I don't want you to," she sighed. "I need you to be my friend."

"In that, I will gladly oblige." He took her hand and gave it a short squeeze. "Do you know how to play Wicked Grace?"

"Of course. Hunting, drinking and parlour games are the nobility's only pleasures."

"Perfect," he chuckled. "We're on for a game then."

She smiled, tears stinging behind her eyes. She'd kept them at bay as long as Hawke was around. Now they welled up, clouding her vision, at the relief washing over her. Varric's thumb rhythmically stroked across her knuckles, steadying her as she took a few shaky breaths.

"Enough of that," he said, once she'd regained her composure. "Now, how about you give me some inspiration for that _Swords and Shields_ sequel?"

"Inspiration?"

"What's going on with you and Curly?"

She flushed and he noticed. "Nothing," she muttered. It wasn't untruthful. "Nothing at all."

"Is that so?" Varric replied, smiling broadly as he nestled himself deeper into the mattress. He reminded her of an old dowager coming round for tea and the latest gossip. She chuckled at the comparison and rested her head on her arms, aware of how much she enjoyed looking up at the dwarf rather than down on him.

"We… were together," she said slowly, "The night of the attack… in his tent."

"Aaah," he said, closing his eyes. "So that's why the boy is such a mess. You siren," he added with a chuckle.

"He's not a boy… and I doubt it. He's got other things to deal with."

"The lyrium thing? Hawke mentioned it."

"She shouldn't have done that! He's very private about it."

"Don't be mad at her. For years everyone has been asking her to fix their shit. She's used to looking for solutions."

"There isn't an easy one here… It's an addiction. That's a battle every day, probably for the rest of his life."

"You've got personal experience with that?"

"Not me, but family members."

"I see," he nodded. "Yeah, it's a struggle." He let his head hang back a moment, his eyes far away. When he pulled it back up, a familiar spark shone in them once again. "Hold on. We nearly brushed over the details. How was it?"

"How was what?"

"You. And him. Being together." He wiggled his eyebrows. "In his tent."

"Varric!" she laughed. "A lady does not tell!"

"Have you ever met a lady? They tell everything."

"You've never met a proper one then."

"Oh, come on!" he whined. "I'm injured. Bound to a bed. Entertain me."

She looked away, unable to keep the smile off her face. His eyes burned into her side, his eagerness near palpable. With a sigh she let the images rush forward, the ones she'd stashed away after Cullen had suggested she'd learn to use magic. She faintly noticed the notion did not offend her as much anymore as it had back then.

"It was… warm," she said, searching her mind for proper vocabulary to describe the event. "Kind of sweaty. A little confusing. But… really nice."

When she looked back, the dwarf was staring at her in disbelief. "Sweaty and confusing… but nice?" he repeated, each word dripping with sarcasm. "Don't go into the romance novel business, Sterling. You're not cut out for it."

"I never thought I was," she chuckled.

"So, after that… riveting tryst," he continued, rolling his eyes, "What happened?"

"A dragon attacked."

"I mean after all that. Don't tell me you haven't talked about it since then?"

"We have," she said, stroking a lock of hair back. "I… decided not to pursue it further. I'm the Inquisitor, he's the Commander. There's no future in it, only difficulties."

"Oh, bullshit!" He said it with such conviction it startled her into a laugh, but he didn't join in. "I mean it, Sterling," he continued sternly, while she stifled her outburst. "If you're not going to distance yourself from me anymore, don't go pulling that shit on him instead. You like him, if not more, and he loves you. That's a rare enough find in this world, you know."

"Drop it, Varric," she sighed. "What has you and Hawke so convinced he's in love with me?"

"One look in his eyes when he speaks of you, and it's obvious to anyone. His previous leader did not inspire such a response, I'll tell you that."

She stared at him. There wasn't a trace of humour in his face. It almost made him look like a different person.

"Why do you care so much about this?"

"I care about you," he said simply. "And I've been in the boy's proximity long enough to care about him too. Like Hawke, he's seen enough shit. I would root for anyone finding a bit of happiness in this situation, especially someone like that."

"He's a knight, not a boy."

"When it comes to you, he is."

o - o - o

It took them another few weeks to return to Skyhold, including time for Varric to get back into travelling condition and detours to close further rifts. Hawke did not raise the topic of magic again, neither did Varric the topic of Cullen. Undoubtedly, while they were in the company of Stroud — a nice, if rather solemn person — neither found their topic appropriate for discussion. Yet even without further prompting, Elsa found her thoughts drifting towards these subjects whenever they were riding, or when she lost interest in whatever conversation was going on around the campfire at night.

Perhaps she had overturned enough of her preexisting expectations and convictions that it was becoming easier to do so. Though she knew she would never be like Hawke and the other mages in the Inquisition, it was an undeniable truth that she was capable of producing fire. _If_ she could control it, that would have been enough to help in Crestwood, even if it was only a bit. She could even light a torch, a candle… no more messing about with flint and steel. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably at these thoughts, but panic was slower to follow than it used to. She couldn't forget, never forget… but perhaps it was time to move forward. Or at least try.

Then there was Cullen. A templar through and through. A man of discipline, law, and order. He had seen the world and decided he knew how it worked. A blunt instrument at times, but an effective one. Except for his lineage, and some of his manners and convictions, he'd fit in seamlessly between her brothers and her father. He was everything familiar, except he made her feel things she'd never felt before. Where the thought of her family was ever accompanied by a complex mix of duty-bound affection and fear, the one of him only brought her comfort.

It was night when they reached Skyhold. Even at that point, after weeks of deliberation, she didn't know what she wanted to do. She continued to not know, even as she brought her horse to the stables, went upstairs, got washed and changed, and finally found herself standing outside his tower. She knew she wanted to see him, to prepare the herbal extract, to catch up on what had happened in Skyhold in her absence. Beyond that, she simply couldn't tell. It was folly to entertain these thoughts, a recipe for disaster.

"… Inquisitor. You're back."

_Shit… I've missed you._

She was fine for a while. He looked bone-tired, pained, frustrated at his situation. This was a state she knew well enough. This, she could handle. Focused on the task at hand, she went upstairs, surprised at the frosty air, but recognising his familiar tell of discomfort — his hand reaching for the back of his neck — when she inquired after it. It didn't matter. She got to work and he sat beside her, and for a while, she was just fine.

Except then she'd caught his scent, like a hound picking up a trail, as he bent over her to pick up the matches. From there, it had only gone downhill. Her resolve, her rational reasons that had kept her from going down that path, started unravelling, like he'd found a loose strand in a tightly knit weave. With each word, gesture, and look, he pulled on it. Pulling and pulling, until it was nothing more than a jumble of yarn.

"Deal… Equals."

His hand was warm, burning against hers. Then he held her. His touch was gentle, unlike her family's. His arms a shield, rather than a prison. She breathed in his scent. Smells from Skyhold, from the forge and the training grounds. Parchment and leather-bound books. A deep muskiness that clouded her thoughts, with a slight hint of salt.

He didn't smell like home.

He didn't smell like a templar.

She hadn't planned for this. She hadn't planned for any of it. That was the best way to describe Cullen perhaps, she thought — unplanned. He was like a glowing scar on her hand derailing her carefully designed future, a dragon plucking her off the ground, a rift-induced thunderstorm messing up her travel plans. Except, well, he was better than those things. Yet for someone who usually planned _everything_… This didn't make the situation necessarily easy to deal with.

They walked to the keep in the morning, where she had to get acquainted with what had happened in her absence. He went to the blacksmith himself, looking back briefly before he left the main hall. He smiled, and she smiled back.

_What in the Void am I doing?_

There was a meeting planned at the end of the day. She was early in the war room, working her way through the various reports and checking them against any developments documented on the table. She took a lion from a grove in the Dales and moved it to a quarry near Crestwood, positioned a raven on Redcliffe, and added a number of key-shaped figurines in a variety of locations in Orlais. Their next major target — a location in the Western Approach and Hawke's new destination — already had a dagger planted in its spot.

Cullen entered the room, paused a moment, then came towards her.

"Hi."

Elsa breathed deeply against the flutters in her stomach. She'd had suitors back home, ones that she'd largely kept at bay. They had invited her on walks, chatted her up after mass, delivered tokens of supposed affection to her house. Their efforts had all been for nought, for her parents — and her mother especially — had clear ideas of the kind of person she should be courted by. Their first rule was that it should not be someone from Ostwick. Their power in that city was secured; what would be the point? So she was brought to parties, where she tolerated those with equal parts increase in noble blood and decrease in manners. Once in a while, there was one who restrained himself long enough to have a decent conversation, though she would soon find herself excessively bored by their general topics of interest.

Cullen would not pay court to her, not in a traditional sense at least. The time for that seemed long past. But while the ceremony had been little more than a chore, at least it was familiar. She wasn't sure what was supposed to come after.

"Are you okay?"

She'd been staring, she realised, and he looked at her with mystified concern.

"Yeah," she said quickly. "I'm… good."

"Good," he sighed, his shoulders sagging a little. Perhaps he was nervous too. He walked around the table, his gloved hand dragging along the edge. It halted beside her, traced a knot in the wood, then came to rest on her waist. "How was your day?" he asked, his eyes intently focusing on hers.

"It was alright…" Her breath was high in her chest, her voice unsteady. It was unnerving. "I think I'm all caught up. How was yours?"

"Better."

His scar moved, tugged to the side by his asymmetrical smile. His hand glided across her dress towards her back.

"The others will be here soon," she said breathlessly.

"Josephine said she'd be ten minutes when I passed by." His mouth moved against hers with his words, anticipation building with every syllable. "We have a moment."

He wrapped her with his warmth, pulling her into the folds of his cloak and against the hardened steel of his breastplate. His taste was sweet, like a rich wine on a cold winter night. Her hands ran up his bracers, their surface smooth like glass under her fingertips, and tangled themselves in his hair.

_Am I happy?_

_I think this is what happy feels like._


	29. A Day's Work

Men were interesting creatures.

She hadn't spent much time in their close company before joining the Inquisition. Her brothers had left home at an early age for templar training. She'd been with Myca for most of her childhood, until he too had gone to follow his brothers' example. He'd been eight years old, she thirteen. She barely knew her eldest brothers when they returned home, them being so many years her senior they'd left home well before she was even born. They resembled her father, an austere and quiet type of man. She didn't see any of them until breakfast at the earliest. Whatever each of them did before that time, or once they retired to their quarters after dinner, had always been a mystery to her.

Then there had been those outside of her own family, who did not show themselves until they were fully primed and prepped — shoulders padded, chests puffed up, ready to make an impression. Empty gestures that were easily seen through, revealing their underlying insecurities, although the overall result of their carefully chosen outfits and sprayed on smells was convincing enough for anyone not looking too closely. She had wondered at times what they would look like without their outer veneer, but usually dropped the exercise quickly. She didn't imagine it was too appealing.

Her proximity to them had changed once she started travelling the Hinterlands. Solas remained a mystery, rising before anyone else and never openly sharing any of his personal rituals with the rest of them. Varric, slower to wake and therefore automatically under more scrutiny from the group each morning, took the opposite road of Solas' need for privacy by being completely open about his own routine. Perhaps it came from having travelled in a similar way with Hawke before. He would get up, eyes thick with sleep, and wander over to the river they'd camped next to or whatever water supply they'd collected for that day. He'd pull off his shirt without reservation, if he even wore one, and washed his stocky frame with loud splashes while humming to himself. Once in a while he might spit on the ground after cleaning his teeth, or groan as he scratched an itch. She'd observed it with interest for the first few days, then grew quite accustomed to it as he continued to show similar quirks throughout the day.

Iron Bull had not been too different from Varric, though even more unabashed about his own and other people's nudity. He'd kept a respectful distance from the women, though he'd startled Dorian often enough by jumping into the river with him when the latter was washing up. Dorian himself, even more prim than what she was used to from most men back home, had by far the most elaborate grooming ritual. He started early with a bath each day, warming the water by magic. Afterwards he would spend much more time with his back turned towards the rest of them, applying scents and oils and shaping his hair, regardless of the weather conditions they would face. In the evening the ritual repeated, without ever skipping a day.

Elsa sat in Skyhold's tower room, leaning against the headboard of the recently repaired bed with her legs pulled up to her chest, observing the newest man in her daily life getting ready for his day around her. Her own morning ritual started earlier now, with her sneaking out of bed for a quick wash and brushing of her hair, then crawling back in before he woke. His started with his hand stroking up her arm, then gently raking through her untangled locks. He'd raise himself up soon after, once she'd let him know she was awake as well, and kiss her good morning.

Depending on his day, he'd either stay there with her for a while, chatting about what was on their schedules, or he'd get up soon after to get ready. This morning, the latter was the case. He buried his face in her neck, breathing in deeply, then got out of bed with a sigh. Next, he took his extract, the materials for which were now set up on a side table in the corner of her room, then lingered a moment at the balcony before closing its door. He'd asked her to keep it open his first night there, eliminating any objections she might've had with an uncomfortable stutter and his hand retreating to the back of his neck. She didn't really mind — he made up for the additional cold by holding her close, something which she didn't expect to tire of anytime soon. With the breeze blocked from entering, he would turn to rummage around the room, pulling on his clothes and collecting his belongings. Unlike the men back home, he had no shoulder pads to don, no beer belly to mask, and no marks to hide away through artificial means. He'd wash in the communal washroom after training, she'd learned, so his morning attentions were limited to cleaning his teeth and a quick check in the mirror as he ran a hand through his hair. Even that, though a little unruly and suddenly living up to Varric's nickname after he'd slept on it, was quite easily pushed back into order. She knew his chiselled features were the result of rigorous training and discipline, but there was no doubt the Commander had been unusually lucky in the Maker's draw as well. She enjoyed watching the ripple in his muscles as he pulled on his shirt, the sharp line of his jaw when he ran a hand across it to check the length of his stubble, his amber eyes darting around looking for his boots. The rising sun reflected brightly off his golden head as he collected his paperwork from the desk and, finally, came towards her on his way out.

He kissed her on the forehead, then waited for her response. She'd tried various ones over the last days, observing his reaction to each option and how it changed with the circumstances. The standard one was to lift her chin, an invitation he took without much hesitation. He'd kiss her deeply, one hand on her neck, the other bracing himself against the mattress. She liked that one, and he seemed happy as he turned away, smiling before he descended the stairs. It varied in duration, depending on how stressed he was starting out his day, but unlike some other options, it never took too much time. She had also tried putting her arms around his neck to pull him back into bed with her. He'd gone along with it once, sliding his hands under her nightclothes, smiling as he kissed her neck, and he'd stayed several minutes longer. Another day he'd let her drag him down with her, then stopped soon after with a frustrated groan. She was careful to repeat it after that, making sure beforehand that he had the time and mental space for it, as it had felt thoroughly unsatisfying. One morning she didn't respond much at all after a bad night of sleep, and only wished him a good day. He'd looked confused afterwards and asked her if she was okay. That had taken a while to correct, so she'd quickly learned to go for the first option most days, which provided the best chance of a positive result with the highest level of reliability.

After he left, she let herself fall back into the pillows and listened to the door swinging shut below. She looked around the room, which suddenly felt empty without him in it. It was a large space for one person, uncomfortably so after what she'd gotten used to over the past months. Yet in spite of that, she wasn't quite sure how she had ended up sharing it so quickly after taking residence in it. They'd decided to spend time together there one night, it being the most private space in Skyhold for them to do so. Somehow, since then… he hadn't really left. He went about his work, of course, as she did. During the day they only saw each other briefly, either accidentally or for small moments before and after meetings. In the evening he would come to her room and stay there until morning, even if they hadn't explicitly agreed on it beforehand. She had no intention of stopping him from doing so, but it was a development that she'd observed with some bewilderment.

It was a positive experience overall. The only downside she'd found so far, was that a bad night of sleep was not an uncommon occurrence. Her own dreams still haunted her, though they continued to grow less intense over time. While the comfort of his arms helped her in falling asleep, his own nightly disturbances offset this benefit. She'd startled the first time, the bed jolting beneath her as he jerked awake and sat bolt upright in the dead of night. He'd looked at her for a moment, eyes wide and disoriented, then turned away. He'd sat on the edge of the bed, apologising, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger while he refused to look at her. She'd wrapped her arms around him, waiting for him to calm down, until the sun began to rise over the horizon. Not every instance was as extreme as that one had been. Sometimes she woke to hear him muttering, breathing heavily, until suddenly his eyes would snap open with a start. Other times she'd miss him waking up, but his distress was instead signalled by the cold sweat seeping into her shirt as he came over to her side and held her to his shaking chest.

Elsa stayed in bed a while longer with her eyes closed, catching a few more minutes of rest, then got up herself. The room was a pleasant space now, cleared of rubble and its ceiling professionally restored. It was still bare on furnishings, but it was clean and had more natural light than any other place in the keep. Though the hearth did not manage to warm it fully, it was comfortable in comparison to camping in the field. She picked an outfit from the wardrobe, which now housed a selection of clothes in her size instead of the previous owner's attire, and brought it over to the vanity. She pulled her hair back in a single, long braid that ran down the length of her back, which would keep it out of her way as she went about her planned activities. Looking in the mirror, she noticed her shapes had filled out and softened once more. Likewise, the rings around her eyes had faded, and her skin no longer looked dull. Indeed, she looked quite back in fighting form. Satisfied, she pulled on the light armour she wore around Skyhold when she was not expecting any outside visitors, and went down to the mess hall.

Varric would wave her over the moment she entered, and she went to sit beside him and whomever he had found for company that morning. Most often it was their Crestwood party, other times it was the Bull's Chargers, some soldiers or scouts, or any of the other people that had joined, such as Blackwall or Sera. This morning it was the first option, which was her favourite and the one she was most comfortable with. Dorian greeted her by getting up from his seat and pulling hers back with a flourish, while Bull was quick to smack a plate of food in front of her. Hawke continued to observe her in a way that she found mildly discomforting, smiling knowingly from across the table as she nursed a mug of tea, but no longer teased her like she had done before. Elsa habitually glanced around the room for Cullen, but he seemed to have already gone. Whenever he had still been there, she'd seen him eating with his lieutenants or with the higher ranking templars. Regardless of the state he'd left her room in, he always seemed at ease in that setting, smiling as he engaged with them in deep conversation.

Her mornings were filled with correspondence and managing the general state of the keep with Josephine. She enjoyed her time in the Ambassador's room, where the fire was always kept high and the chairs had been picked for comfort rather than efficiency. The effect of the warmly decorated office was an extension of Josephine's own that she had on those around her, which made working with her feel closer to chatting with a friend than it did to waging a war. She laughed brightly as they worked their way through reports of gossip and requests from the nobility, recalling stories and scandals from her near encyclopaedic pool of knowledge on the subject. They got sidetracked often enough, instead chatting about their homes and families or complaining about the cold in the castle. Other times her cheeks would flush a little as she inquired after goings-on with Cullen, which Elsa indulged in limited amounts. Whatever wish either of them might've had in keeping their relationship a secret had soon proven itself to be a fool's errand. Leliana had known the moment she stepped into the war room during their first meeting, and Josephine had noticed him leaving her tower some days later. Despite her desire for privacy, Elsa found she didn't regret it. Though she was careful not to divulge anything that might embarrass him, she also noticed how much she enjoyed the fact that there was something there to talk about. Josephine made for a good audience, sighing along wistfully as she detailed something he'd said or done without any judgement or apparent jealousy. It was one of the occasions that made Elsa think of her sister, and wonder if this was how she would have talked with her, had she still been alive.

Around noon the Inquisition's leadership had its general status meeting, in which they went through reports and she made decisions that they hadn't been able to resolve on their own. She had been worried briefly after her return, when Cullen argued against her decision to utilise Arl Wulff. He had dropped it, however, once she explained her reasoning, and hadn't brought it up again after. It hadn't been the last test of their professional relationship, but she was happy to find they managed to navigate these situations well enough so far. Today's meeting was an important one, evident by the inclusion of Hawke, who casually strolled around the room until the topic that concerned her would be addressed.

"The date for the peace talks has been set," Josephine informed the others. "The festivities will take place at the Winter Palace in a month from now."

"Do we have our way in yet?" Cullen inquired, his expression grim at the foresight of an Orlesian ball.

"We have," the Ambassador replied brightly. "We have been extended an invitation by Grand Duke Gaspard, the Empress' cousin."

"What is his interest in inviting us, do you think?" Elsa asked her.

"Undoubtedly he wishes to use the Inquisition's presence to his advantage in some way," Leliana replied. "Either by gaining our support, or simply by causing a stir at the ball. One way or another, the upset it will cause is something for him to spin."

"I don't doubt it," Elsa murmured, pondering her knowledge of the civil war. "Do we consider him a potential agent for Corypheus? It seems at odds with him inviting us."

"I would agree," Josephine nodded, "but we should be careful not to rule anyone out quite yet. It may not be him, but it could be someone working for him."

"Fair enough. What is our plan for during the event?"

"We'll place soldiers within the palace," Cullen explained. "If an assassin is hiding, we need to be able to act. The difficulty is getting them in."

"I can get them in place," Leliana assured him. "But not too many, and not all at once."

"Ideally we find out what's going on without any bloodshed," Elsa sighed, chewing her lip. "The organisation involved in this event… If someone is looking to derail it, it does not happen in a vacuum. Someone must know what is going on at that party."

The others were quiet, each considering the conundrum before them. The only sound was the faint sizzling of sparks jumping between Hawke's fingers, as she did to entertain herself when she was bored.

"Alright, here's what will happen," Elsa continued, pulling the blueprint of the Winter Palace towards her. "We'll be at the main party — I suggest we include Lady Vivienne, Varric, and Dorian. He may be a little controversial, but each of them have the best chance of drawing information from the other guests. Obviously Cassandra will be there as well, much as she might resist. Then…" She directed their attention to the servant's quarters. "I want Sera to infiltrate the kitchens, with backup — perhaps the Chargers. Whatever the guests don't know, the servants are sure to. Blackwall can join our official guard and try talking to the Empress' soldiers. Solas… I'll need to ask him what he thinks is best, also for Cole. But this way, we can have eyes and ears in as many places as possible."

"What about Iron Bull?" Josephine asked, smiling mischievously.

Elsa huffed a breath and thought. "Honestly, subterfuge is not going to be an option, and I don't want to _not_ use him… so we might as well take him with us. At least he'll be a distraction from our other efforts, and his presence might be enough to deter an assassin altogether. All in agreement?" she added, eyeing the others. They nodded, and she looked to Leliana. "Can you manage it?"

"It will be done."

"Good," Elsa said. "Then all we need is something to wear. Do you think we can design a gown I can hide my bow under?"

They chuckled at the comment, with Cullen giving her an appreciative look. The topic then turned to the Western Approach. Hawke sauntered over to the table at her cue, and informed them of her latest information.

"While you go partying, I'll be scouring the desert," she told them, though she managed to make it sound like hers was the better end of the deal. "Stroud's latest intel has given him an idea where to look. We'll leave tomorrow. With some luck, we'll have located the Wardens by the time you end the Orlesian squabble."

"Do you require a team?" Cullen asked her. "We might need to adjust our plans if you want to take someone with you."

"We'll be quicker just the two of us," she replied, waving away his suggestion. "Draw less attention too. We don't want to alert anyone yet."

"Alright," he agreed. "I'll prepare the troops to follow in your wake. We should take this opportunity to strengthen our presence in that direction."

"We'll need to consult our allies on that before you mobilise, Commander," Josephine reminded him. "Sending troops through Orlais' counties without warning is sure to raise protests."

"We cannot concern ourselves with sidestepping Orlesian toes while Corypheus is preparing his next move," he retorted, eyes hardening. "It may be necessary to move quickly once we find out what's going on."

Elsa quieted the potential argument with a raise of her hand. His glare snapped in her direction. "Fortunately Orlesians do not shy away from asking for a favour and shirking their responsibilities within a single breath," she said gently. He huffed a laugh through his nose, his expression softening. "We can use their requests for help in the Dales in our favour," she continued, pointing out the various locations on the map. "We start there, and push onward. In the meantime, Josephine and I will contact the necessary houses and carve out a path to the Western Approach."

He nodded his acknowledgement, the grip on his sword loosening slowly. Elsa exchanged a glance with the Ambassador, then declared the meeting at an end. Cullen lingered a moment, briefly squeezing her hand, then followed the others. "Please ask Solas to come in," she told them as they cleared out of the room, while she wrote notes on her papers and added new tasks to her to-do list.

Her afternoons were spent with the elf, who silently entered the war room with Cole in tow. Though the boy did not contribute to their practice in any particular way, Elsa enjoyed his calming presence during it nonetheless.

"Inquisitor," Solas greeted her, smiling faintly. He rolled out the blanket he'd brought in and sat himself down on it, legs crossed before him. "Shall we begin?"

"We'll need to talk about your roles in the Winter Palace," she told him, collecting a pillow from one of the chairs and a candle from the table.

"In good time," he replied, gesturing to the ground.

Cole had taken position on one of the benches, perched like a bird, his gentle energy radiating calmly as he quietly observed. Elsa herself sat down opposite the elf, placing the candle between them on the ground. With a deep breath she raised her shoulders, then let them sink as low as she could on her exhale.

"Ready?"

"As ready as I ever am," she said wryly.

"Very well," he replied, his ears pivoting slightly. He raised a hand, covering the candle. When he removed it, it was glowing with a bright blue flame. "Then… the same as yesterday. Focus."

She brushed back the loose strands of hair that had escaped from her braid over time. Folding her hands in her lap, she then concentrated on the flame before her, willing away the room around her.

Deep inside her core, the animal rose to its feet behind the bars of its confinement. It happened faster nowadays, not like it had on her escape from Haven. Perhaps it was growing accustomed to being called upon, anticipating the exercise like a dog does its meal or the arrival of its owner. It rolled its shoulders, warming up its stiffened joints, and opened its jaw.

With a faint growl, the flame burned brighter, colouring Solas' eyes vivid blue. "Good," his voice said, echoing in the dark chamber of her imagination. "Now, you'll want to grow the flame. Steady… don't rush."

She'd asked him how the first time around. _Focus on the goal, not the way to it. If you decide to shoot an arrow, you do not think of how your hands should move to pick up the bow. Picture the flame at the height where you want it, and let your mind do the rest._ Elsa breathed deeply, repeating his words once more to herself in an effort to internalise them, and watched the flame burn before her. It flickered gently, its fire only barely reaching the height of her knee. She picked a point in the air, picturing it as if it had risen to that height. The animal — her animal — scratched at the door, waiting for its release. She unlocked the cage, and waited.

The flame surged, darkening everything around it. Higher it climbed — unevenly, with sputters and sparks — but rise it did. Solas observed it closely, ready to stop her if need be, but he did not. Once it reached the desired height, she paused, her brow beaded with sweat and eyes hurting from how intensely she'd stared into the blinding light. She looked up, breathing hard under the strain, and he smiled. Though she doubted he was impressed with her feeble results, the disdain he'd shown for her not long ago seemed to have gone.

"Well done. Time to bring it back down."

By the end of the afternoon sessions, she was wiped out. She paused on her way out of the war room to check the state of affairs with Josephine, then went to find Varric. The dwarf had claimed himself a spot in the main hall since their return, in the form of a comfy seat and small desk close to the fire. She sat down on the floor beside him, resting her back against the armchair's leg. He patted her head absentmindedly, not taking his eyes off of his writing.

"Making progress?" she asked.

"The Seeker will be out of commission for days when she gets her hands on it," he said, quill scratching rapidly. "How about you?"

"He says we'll try to light a candle tomorrow."

"Good job, Sterling. I'm proud of you."

"…Thank you."

"Don't make plans tonight, by the way," he continued, dipping his pen in the ink. "We're going for that drink."

"… I am really tired, Varric."

"Then go take a nap before," he said, playfully scratching her head. "Or do you suddenly only have an interest in cuddling up with Curly?"

She flushed. "No, I want to spend time with you. I'm just not sure if I should go drinking in the tavern. The optics, you know."

"Optics, schmoptics. It's called the 'Herald's Rest'. If you can't rest in there, who can?" He raised his eyebrows, pausing his writing until he had gotten her to agree. She sighed, but nodded, after which he gave her another pat on the head. "Good girl. We're giving Hawke a sendoff, so it'll be a party. Cancel your morning meetings."

Since their return, she'd spent most evenings in her tower, reading the heavy tomes that Solas had suggested or finishing up her correspondence of the day. Cullen generally showed up shortly before midnight, bringing his own stack of paperwork along with him. In part this was to make it seem, to the casual observer, as if they had work to discuss. A second reason, she soon found out, was that it had piled up over time. Despite some initial objections, it didn't take much convincing for him to let her help. For the next nights she'd sat in his lap, reading the reports out to him while he wrote the necessary responses with one hand, his other softly trailing up and down her spine. As the pile grew smaller with each passing day, he had started rejecting her assistance. Instead she'd continue her reading in bed, while he sat at the desk and finished up the work on his own.

Once they'd finished for the day, he would stay the night. They'd talk quietly, relying less on the question game as topics of conversation proved themselves easy to come by. His hands would trace the shapes of her body, exploring under her shirt as he pulled her against him. His eyes were a soft brown in the dark of night, closely observing her responses. She carefully examined him in return; tracing the lines of his abdomen, his shoulders, and his arms, drawing constellations between the few freckles on his side, and letting her fingers rake through the soft hair trailing down from his chest. Several scars had left faint lines on his skin, each with a story connected to it — a blood mage's knife he'd been too slow to dodge, a bandit's sword breaking through his armour, a broken bone received in the Qunari uprising. He laughed when she asked him after one on his knee, which was the result of his sister accidentally knocking him to the ground while playing tag.

Late into each night, when her energy would dwindle and her eyes began to fall closed, he'd place his hand behind her head and kiss her. Intense and passionately, but careful not to overstep. Her body responded on its own, shivering at his touch, curving with the shapes of his. She'd wrap a leg around his waist, feeling him press against her, but they didn't go further. Eventually he'd stop, moving down to kiss her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders, after which he wrapped her up in his arms and held her close, nuzzling the top of her head. Perhaps he noticed her hesitation, perhaps he simply wanted to take it slow this time around. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for it. Being with him stirred up her feelings in ways she'd avoided for years. While she wanted it to change, it proved itself easier said than done. Their first time it had been simple, her rational mind too exhausted to resist and desperate for relief. Now, however, it kicked in whenever she was on the verge of relinquishing control, reminding her of all the reasons why she hadn't let herself do so before. Practising with Solas stirred up enough havoc on its own, being close to Cullen only added to the storm. She fervently hoped it would go away in time, and preferably before he grew tired of waiting.

This particular evening, he brought no paperwork with him. He also showed up earlier than she'd gotten used to, and well before she considered herself ready.

"Are you coming?" he asked. "Everyone's already there."

"Since when are you into parties?" she said begrudgingly. "I thought we had that in common."

"Depends on the party," he shrugged. "Hawke has a way about her. It was fun, before you all left for Crestwood."

She mildly resented the praise of Hawke's easy manners, though not as much as she had some weeks ago. Cullen seemed to notice, for he came towards her, and gently pulled her closer by her waist.

"Come on." Her eyes were drawn to the top of his chest peeking out from under the white linen shirt. "If I can learn to enjoy it, you're going to have a great time."

"I just wonder… I thought Varric meant we'd have a drink in private. As Inquisitor —"

"You're also a person," he interjected, stroking a lock of hair behind her ear. "The men are not going to think any less of you if you have a drink. In fact, they're probably going to love it."

Cullen leaned in before she could respond, quieting her objections. A playful smirk started on his lips when he pulled back, then resonated in his eyes. Suddenly he looked several years younger, unspoiled by life, and she understood what Varric had meant when they'd spoken of him.

He offered her his arm and led her out. Varric met them halfway down the main hall, evidently on his way to come fetch her himself. Cullen released her into the dwarf's care, following them towards the crowded tavern from which music and voices carried across the grounds. A brief hush fell over the crowd as she stepped inside, although it was quickly disrupted by Iron Bull announcing the next round in his Chargers' drinking contest. With the chatter and the music resuming their normal rhythm, Varric pulled her forward and sat her down beside him, to the appreciative cheers of Dorian and Cassandra. Hawke appeared from the bar with a set of drinks, slammed them down, then slid one towards her. The mage grabbed another herself and sat down next to Cullen, where the two pressed their mugs together in a toast Elsa couldn't hear the words to. She caught his eye afterwards and he raised his drink to her, smiling encouragingly, while Hawke, already tipsy, wrapped herself around Dorian's shoulders.

Varric, deck of cards flitting between his hands, commanded the table with an air resembling the crime bosses in his novels. He smirked at her and dealt them each a hand with the speed of a professional dealer.

Elsa took a long draught from her drink, relishing the coolness of it in her throat and the instant buzz it sent to her head. She lifted the edge of her cards, glancing at her hand. Two songs, two knights, and a dagger. A decent hand, if not a winning one if she played it right. None of the people here had seen her play before. She smiled to herself, careful not to let the expression spill over to her face.

"All ready?" Varric asked, his eyes twinkling in the dim light as they rested on her.

"Deal me in, Master Tethras," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I do believe I'm feeling lucky tonight."


	30. Upon an Evening

"Your middle name is Stanton?"

Cullen looked up from the desk, eyebrow arched apprehensively. "Who wants to know?"

"I do," Elsa chuckled. "It's how you're mentioned on the guest list for the ball."

He rolled his eyes, as was his custom whenever the event at the Winter Palace came up in conversation. Currently, that was often. She'd wondered if he might permanently damage his sight through muscle strain before it was over.

"I'm not sure how Josephine found that out, nor why she felt it necessary to include that information," he grumbled, refocusing on the report before him. "But yes, it is my middle name."

"Cute."

He glanced over, a small smirk briefly curling the corner of his mouth.

"I think Josie is just trying whatever she can to give us more cachet in this company," Elsa murmured against the back of her quill. She let her eyes fly further down over the list of names, which was labelled as sheet seven out of twelve. "There isn't a person on here who isn't a Duchess or a Comte, at the very least."

"If they're so impressed with names, they're going to love Cassandra."

She sifted through the papers spread out around her on the bed. "Maker, yes," she agreed, finding the Seeker's entry on the list. "Celene might've died of old age by the time they're finished announcing her. Never mind the assassin."

"Announce?"

Elsa looked up, surprised. She couldn't help it. Suddenly, preparing for the event, there were so many things he was clueless to that were second nature to her. She wasn't used to it since joining the Inquisition, where he'd had the upper hand in most situations.

"Someone will announce each of the guests when they arrive," she explained, smiling to herself. "They will then present themselves to the Empress."

He stared at her. "Present how?"

"A bow would be customary. Accompanied by a compliment of the palace perhaps or of Her Radiance's hospitality, if she invites conversation."

"Her Radiance?"

"Or 'Her Imperial Majesty'. Whatever floats your boat."

"I don't think my boat will do much floating either way. And we are each presented separately?"

"I will be going in with the Grand Duke," she sighed, "considering he is our host. But yes, separately otherwise. It's all in the briefing Josephine prepared."

A frown formed in his forehead. He put his pen down and rested his elbows on the table, pressing his fingers together as he thought. It was the same gesture from when she'd seen him playing chess with Dorian, considering his next move. She wondered if he was trying to apply the logic of the game to the Empress' ball, and what his success would be in doing so.

"You'll be careful around him, won't you?" he said suddenly, fixing her with a serious look.

"He's not going to shiv me in the opening dance after inviting us," she joked. "Besides, I thought you were quite in favour of him."

"His claim to the throne is legitimate," Cullen shrugged. "He was first in line, were it not that the Council chose Celene. He's a celebrated general — he'd make a good leader."

"A leader who, in time, might want to see Ferelden under Orlesian rule once again," she countered. "Would that be celebrated?"

"… Fair enough," he consented, after some consideration. He picked up his pen again, and once more directed his attention to the report. "All the more reason for you to be on your guard."

Elsa watched him, gauging his mood. His eyes went down the page at a steady pace, and he wasn't pressing his fingers into his temple. Once he reached the end of the report, he grabbed a piece of paper and drafted a reply. There was a slight tremor in his hands as he dipped the quill in the ink, but he finished the note in a single attempt.

_Seems alright._

"Are you concerned about my safety, ser knight?" she asked, leaning towards him. "Or could it be you wanted to claim the first dance with me yourself?"

He smiled before he looked up, recognising the tone of her voice. "Are you suggesting I'm jealous, my lady?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

She dropped her head to her side, letting her hair drift down her shoulder. He trailed it with his eyes, as she had expected him to. "That would be unbecoming of me, would it not?"

"It certainly would be."

"Unless it is the truth of course," she murmured. "Then it is not slander."

He pushed away from the desk and got to his feet. For the first steps he walked slowly, his eyes fixing her like a predator's. Then he pounced, crossing the distance in a few long strides. She shrieked with laughter, scrambling back onto the bed, but he grabbed her by her ankles and dragged her towards him. Within a second he was on top of her, his hands interlocked with hers above her head.

"Surely you do not mean to imply the roguish veteran has anything to fear from the peacock chevalier?" he said softly, his voice rumbling with a playful growl.

"I don't know, serah," she breathed. "Your armour is so pristine these days. It's like I hardly know thee."

He buried his face in her neck, sharply sucking the skin between his teeth. The lists of names crumpled beneath her as she arched her back, pressing herself against him. His hands released their grip and ran over her body, around her waist, and down to her backside. Her skin stung where his teeth scraped against it, his breath setting it on fire.

She didn't want to know who'd taught him to touch someone in this way, for she'd hardly be a stranger to jealousy herself if she knew. As it stood, she could presume it was simply another talent bestowed upon him by the Maker.

_Well done… he's perfect._

o - o - o

Elsa sat against the headboard, continuing her work on examining the guest list. Cullen had collected his own papers from the desk and now sat beside her, shirt half undone and not bothered to close it again, reading through the remainder of the reports. She sank a little lower against his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of it against her back. He was like a portable furnace; very comfortable within Skyhold, possibly too much in another environment. She made the mental note that they should never live in a warm climate, then scolded herself for getting ahead of herself.

"Cullen?"

He hummed in reply.

"Can you make sure to check in on Beaudin at the ball?"

"Who?"

She looked at him, but his eyes remained on his report. "Roger Beaudin. He'll be providing workers in the Dales. He was one of our guests at Haven."

"Why do I need to check in with him?"

"Because your men will be working with his. And he's been asking to hear about the battle at Haven."

_You would know this if you read Josie's briefings._

He made a dismissive noise, but nodded his consent. She breathed deeply, abruptly aware of a strange clenching in her chest.

"Do you remember any of the people who came to Haven?"

"By name?"

"No, shoe size." He still didn't look up, but huffed a laugh. "Yes, by name."

"No," he replied casually. "Except that one man, with the siege weapon obsession. Dufort?"

"Well, that's a start. You should memorise them before the ball. They will have remembered you; it would be an offence if you didn't return the compliment."

"Maker forbid," he murmured.

"It's not unimportant."

"It's ridiculous," he said bluntly.

He didn't notice her watching him, not until he'd finished the report and replaced it with another. Their eyes briefly crossed as he did, and his brow rose a notch in surprise.

"Everything okay?"

"… Yeah," she said slowly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She turned away from him to focus on the guest list, though she didn't register the names before her. The chill had dropped from her lungs and nestled itself in her stomach, unlike any she'd felt in a while. The suddenness of it made her uneasy, as did its very presence… it wasn't a feeling she was supposed to have with him.

"… Alright."

His gaze lingered on her a moment longer, until the rustle of the paper told her he'd gone back to reading. She breathed deeply, trying to will the feeling away and focus on her work, but it wouldn't leave.

"Is that what I am to you?" she asked, her voice sharper than she'd intended.

"What?"

"… Ridiculous."

"What?" he asked again, frowning. "No, of course not."

"You realise what my life was before I ended up in the Inquisition, right?" she asked, rapping the list with her finger. "Maintaining relationships like these was most of what I did."

"Well, thank the Maker that's no longer the case, right?"

"Demons and combat and camping in swamps is preferable over showing others a little courtesy to you?"

"It's not about showing courtesy," he laughed. "It's about Orlesian nobles not giving a damn about anyone, while expecting to be treated like royalty at all times."

"They came to help with the templars. Josephine and I worked round the clock to build those relationships. I can't just set you at the end of the table on this one, you'll need to participate."

He stared at her in confusion, brow furrowed, his report quite forgotten in his hand. "Elsa… What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I — I don't know. Everything was fine a minute ago, and now you seem ready to kick me off the balcony. I'm not sure what happened."

"I just —"

She inhaled sharply through her nose, trying to calm the flare of rage. She didn't understand it, not exactly, except that she was suddenly aware of all the little glares and snorts of disgust he'd expressed over time, and how all of that offended her while she was once again carrying the responsibility to make the upcoming event a success.

"I'm… this thing is stressful. It's not like when they came to Haven, and it's not like the game that we play. It would be nice if you didn't make fun of me while I'm trying to figure it out."

He sighed, putting the report aside, and put his arm around her shoulder. "I'm not making fun of you," he said, pushing his forehead against hers. "I respect that you are good at this stuff, and I am not blind to why it matters. But it doesn't change that I dislike the fact that it exists, and that we have to accommodate it."

_Damn you for smelling so good._

"Okay," she murmured. "Just… tone it down a bit, okay? This isn't my usual league either. I need your support."

"Always," he said softly. "Don't ever doubt it."

o - o - o

He'd fallen asleep a while ago, evident from the lengthening of his breath. Her head was resting on his arm, while his other hand idly lingered on her hip, his fingers casually reaching under the edge of her underwear. The draft from the balcony gently brushed over his shoulder and stirred the hairs on her arm. She backed a little further into him, snuggling into his embrace. He responded by moving slightly, his hand sliding onto her belly, and breathing in deeply from the back of her head.

"Cullen?"

He didn't respond.

"… Cullen?"

"Mmh…"

"I'm sorry."

She could feel him stirring behind her, his lashes brushing against her hair as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. He raised himself up, turning her to face him. "What for?"

"Getting upset… earlier. I'm sorry. I know we make fun of the Game together… I shouldn't have taken what you said personally."

"You're still thinking about that?"

"Well… yeah."

"Stop it," he sighed. "I've been told I can be a self-righteous ox. I'm sorry — I'll be better."

She briefly wondered who'd told him that. It sounded like something Varric would say. She stopped thinking of it when he playfully bumped his nose against hers. The scar was faintly visible in the dark, a thin white line curving with his smirk. She pressed her lips on it, feeling the gentle sting of his stubble.

"Since we're awake…" he said slowly, his hand sliding over her stomach. "Do you want to…?"

"Yeah," she whispered, taking him by the wrist and guiding him further upwards. "Make it up to me."

He grinned before he lowered himself down, then pulled her against him as he kissed her. Her heart fluttered wildly as he did, seemingly eager to jump out of her chest. Soon, their argument was quite forgotten.

_Andraste preserve me… I think I love you._


	31. Double-Edged Sword

Elsa was in the war room before him again. Cullen lingered on the threshold, watching her work around the table. Her neat brows were furrowed in concentration as she rapidly let her eyes fly down the report she was holding. A moment of consideration, the edge of her finger pressed against her bottom lip, then she made a decision. A quick scribble from her quill, a movement on the table as a figurine got positioned according to her choice. Her gait was quick and light, footsteps echoing faintly in the chamber. She placed the report on one pile and retrieved another. There was no hesitation, no doubt; she read his recommendations and those of the other advisers and made up her mind, like only one raised to lead could do. It might only have been ladies from lesser houses, Chantry sisters, or servants in her previous life, but it didn't seem to make a difference to her now that she was commanding an army of templars, building houses, reclaiming mines, or rescuing refugees instead.

She turned her head, her long hair drifting across the waistband of her dress. The previous evening she'd asked his opinion on what she should wear, for she was supposed to receive visitors during the day. He couldn't recall who it had been or why they were important; she and Josephine had managed it between themselves. He hoped they weren't someone connected to the impending ball, and that she wouldn't quiz him on it later. At least he had given her a satisfactory answer to her wardrobe question, for she was wearing the dark red garment that he'd expressed a preference for. It was different from her usual colour scheme, but it contrasted quite nicely with her fair skin. The fabric graciously kissed the floor as she turned and looked out the window, her hair a shimmering copper in the light of the setting sun.

_Beautiful._

It was a thought that struck him more often than any other these days. He doubted anyone could disagree with that assessment of her current form; her head aglow with the last light of the day, her posture elegant with hands folded before her, her expression pensive. Yet he'd been surprised at how it occurred to him at other, less obvious moments as well. She could be sitting on the bed in a simple linen tunic and his cloak around her shoulders, legs pulled up to her chest, chewing her quill. She could be giggling with Josephine, her nose wrinkling with her laughter as they discussed designs for ballgowns or gossiped about the nobility. She could be in the tavern, her eyes slightly hazy and a shrewd smile on her lips, while she rivalled Varric's ability of turning out everyone's pockets. She could be asleep in the middle of the night, unaware of his insomnia, her hair in a grey tangle around her head and her mouth ajar. It didn't matter. He would observe her, watching the subtle changes in her eyes, the tiny quirks of her brows, the faint lines forming in her porcelain skin, the motion of her lips…

All he could think was that she was beautiful. Moreover, that she was his. He had to tell himself that, because he couldn't quite believe it.

They'd gone to her room the night following her return from Crestwood and he'd stayed in her bed like she had in his the night before. In the morning she'd said they should spend more time together, which he had taken as enough invitation to call upon her the following evening. She hadn't turned him away, and from there it had continued. Suddenly his nights were no longer empty and endless, filled with dread at piles of paperwork and expected nightmares. Not that they were gone, not by a long shot. The extract she prepared slowly took effect over the following days, taking the worst edge of his headaches and his chills, quieting the voices in his head to a murmur rather than a shout. It made his daily obligations easier to deal with, raised his worst moments to a more manageable low. His nights continued to be turbulent, despite the larger dose. While he fell asleep more easily, the dreams did not stay away. They were mildly less disturbing, experienced as if from outside himself rather than as fresh as the day the memories were planted in his mind. Yet they did not shy away from shaking him awake, from tiring him out by morning, or from resurfacing in his thoughts as he tried to focus on the tasks ahead during the day. He could, however, reach over and touch her soft skin, wrap her in his arms, feel her heart pulse against his chest when he would lie awake. Or, if she was awake, she would stroke the hair sticking to his forehead, kiss him, comfort him until the visions had dissipated. It wasn't perfect, but it was more than anything he'd dared to dream of.

Elsa, diverting her attention back to the darkening room, stepped closer to the table. She lifted her hand, letting it hover over one of the candle stumps. Her expression grew darker, her jaw sharpening in concentration. A shiver pulled through his spine as he felt the Veil quiver, anticipation rising for as long as her eyes remained fixed on the wick. Her mouth moved ever so slightly, silently whispering words he'd heard a thousand times in the Circles. A bright flash lit up her flawless face, briefly washing the detail from her eyes as they reflected the flame dancing to life. She exhaled deeply as she brought her hand down and stared at her creation, seemingly mystified at its very existence.

Cullen bit back the reservation that had crawled into his throat and stepped inside as the Veil closed around her. She looked up when he did, a wide smile breaking across her face the moment she saw him. It was enough for the doubt nibbling at his chest to shrink down even further, retreating to a place where he could pretend it did not exist.

"Did you see?" she asked, glowing with excitement.

"I did." She'd come towards him, gliding into his arms. "You're getting better."

Elsa let out a puff of air, tossing up a lock of hair that had fallen over her face. He reached up to stroke it back, letting his fingers trail through the length of it. She shivered in response, closing her eyes briefly as she leaned her head into the motion. Then they fluttered open again and she looked at him, beaming, before she wrapped herself around him. Her cheek was warm against his, her brow slightly damp from the effort of the spell.

She grew less cautious with each embrace, her fingers curling deeper into his hair, her body pressing more firmly against his. Each night, the line had shifted further, bringing her ever closer and drawing him in more deeply. Then, at first, he'd felt her stiffen, retreat slightly from his touch, or place a hand on his chest to create some distance. She'd cast her eyes down, exhaling softly, guilt flashing across her features. He'd pulled her close whenever she did, telling himself he was lucky to even have her to this extent and banishing any insecurities it whipped up inside of him. Then, as they settled into a routine he'd hardly ever imagined for himself, he'd been the one to end the evening more than once himself. A twitch, a stirring, the faintest ripple in the air as she sighed in response to his touch, or a soft moan rumbled from her chest. It shifted in her core, flowed within her veins… enticing and chilling at once. It would calm once he held her, settling down and fading into her heartbeat. He didn't want it to bother him, but a near lifetime of being taught differently was not so easily ignored.

Her hand brushed down his cheek when she pulled away. "I think I am getting better," she said brightly, walking back to the table. "Or a little quicker, at least."

The door opened and Josephine nearly bumped into him. "Commander," she said, her startled face quickly turning into a smile. "What are you doing, I wonder, lurking by the door?"

Cullen sighed, rubbing a hand along the nape of his neck. He followed the Ambassador as she bounded into the room, a bundle of cloth in her arms, precariously balanced on top of her clipboard and reports. She dropped the whole onto the table, then pulled the fabric off with a flourish.

"What do you think?" she asked, holding it up for Elsa's evaluation.

Elsa, in turn, let out an appreciative gasp and took the other ends of the cloth in her hands. "It's perfect," she declared.

He exhaled in relief, hopeful that this might be the last meeting he'd have to sit through where fabric choices were an extended topic of conversation. It hadn't been on any official agenda, yet it managed to creep in regardless, alongside more design considerations, gossip and other information somehow relevant to the Empress' peace talks. He didn't want to know how much time the subjects took when the meetings were actually dedicated to them. At least this matter appeared to be settled, when Leliana entered as well and expressed her approval.

Elsa's face shone as she and Josephine talked rapidly, their hands positioning the fabric across her dress, their words interspersed with sounds of appreciation or dismissal as they tried various options. He let his thoughts drift, his eyes trailing the line of her collar bone, the curve of her wrist, her slender fingers draping the folds over her chest. He shook the reveries from his head, catching Leliana's eye. The Spymaster did not yet tire of raising her eyebrows at him, her mouth curving in a sly smirk. He huffed a laugh in response, then directed his attention to the table.

"Can we… get to business?" he asked, glancing at Elsa.

She pulled away from her conversation. "Yes, of course," she said, smiling apologetically as she passed the fabric back to Josephine. The Ambassador sighed longingly as she carefully folded it back up and placed it away from the table. She used the candle from the table to light the one on her clipboard, then picked it up. Quill poised, the meeting began in earnest.

He hadn't heard from Hawke yet, which worried him. It wasn't like she had promised to write regular updates — or any, for that matter — but he had expected to hear something from her within a few days, let alone weeks. One might think she had simply vanished on her way to the desert, were it not for the path of destruction she left in her wake. Reports rolled in with regularity from his squads following behind her, clearing up the mess and establishing new camps, despite resistance from further red templars occupying the regions. He resented having to report on such matters to Elsa, but she took it in stride.

"Any news?" she asked Leliana, her eyes resting on the map before her.

"Unfortunately not, Inquisitor," she replied, inclining her head in apology. "I have set out additional lines of inquiry, but no mention of a Trevelyan as of yet."

Elsa nodded her consent. Cullen shifted uncomfortably, but she shook out her hair, looking up with a smile. "Thank you, Leliana. Anything else?"

"Yes," the Spymaster continued, handing her a letter. "Dagna has finished preparing the crystal. We are ready to place it upon your order."

"Consider it given," Elsa murmured, assessing the note. "Let's find out what this Calpernia is up to."

"It'll take time," Leliana replied. "Possibly people. I expect to have news by the time we return."

"Then we just need to finish up. Are we all set to leave?"

"All according to schedule," Josephine said brightly, punctuating it with a sharp tap of her quill. "We'll be out of here by the end of the week."

Cullen suppressed a sigh. He did not share the others' excitement at leaving Skyhold, despite the prospect of a more temperate climate around Halamshiral. Josephine nearly swooned whenever she talked about the idea of being at the Winter Palace, and even Leliana seemed quite happy to leave the mountains for a while. Elsa herself alternated between being stressed about the weight of the event and the same girlish excitement that the Ambassador had for it. Lucky for him, in his current state of unconditional admiration, it was just another thing that added to his endearment for her.

The other two women cleared the room, Josephine with the bundle of cloth and the promise she'd turn it over to Vivienne. Elsa waited for them to leave, then turned to him.

"So…" She let her hips sway slightly as she swept around the table. "Did Vivienne take your measurements?"

"Yes," he sighed. "She can knock herself out."

"I'm sure you're going to look very dapper," she murmured, running her hands through his cloak.

"Ever important when waging a war."

"Grumpy," she chuckled. She considered him a moment, biting her lip. He chided himself for wanting to follow her example. "Listen," she said slowly, glancing up at him through her lashes, "can we have an early night?"

"You don't want to play cards?"

"No," she chuckled. "Everyone can use some time to refill their purses. I thought it could be just us tonight."

"As you wish, my lady. Shall I arrange some dinner?"

"Maker, yes," she groaned, tossing her head back. "I didn't eat a thing all day."

"Didn't you have lunch?"

"I think the Duchess has not eaten since she was twelve," she snorted, "I could hardly get a bite in while she only nibbled on a grape."

"Alright," he laughed. "I know what to do."

o - o - o

He enjoyed her quarters. The double balcony let in plenty of light and fresh air, while the view allowed him to keep an eye on the keep and surrounding area. The Gallows had not had a space like it, not even in the higher levels. At best, in the final years, his quarters had had a single window with bars on it. Sometimes it had been difficult to feel the difference between being there voluntarily or against one's will — a distinction that became more meaningless in itself with each passing day. He leaned his shoulder against the door frame, breathing in deeply at the night air.

Elsa appeared from behind him, a glass of wine in each hand. "Here ya go," she said, exaggerating her accent slightly as she handed him one. "Let me in."

She nudged herself under his arm and snuggled against his side, one arm wrapped around his waist. He reflexively pulled her closer, breathing in deeply from the top of her head. Standing up here, it was hard to imagine there was any trouble in the world at all.

"How was dinner?"

"So good," she affirmed, taking a sip from her drink. "Couldn't eat another bite."

"Good," he laughed. "I take any and all credit then."

"Oh, definitely. If we can't take credit for the orders we give, then what is the point of our lives?"

"No point whatsoever."

They looked out over the grounds, the torches and campfires lighting the shadows from the walls and warming the stone. While a few short months ago there had been the wailing from the infirmary, now there was music drifting up from the tavern, accompanied by the sounds of laughter and drunken songs. Down in the inner courtyard, faint blue dots shimmered in the planters of the newly prepared Chantry garden. Elsa had made it one of her projects since her return; soon there would be no need to find the ingredients of his remedy in the wild anymore. He sighed deeply, his chest rising with the deep sense of peace that had grown within.

"Cullen?"

He didn't think he'd ever get used to how his name sounded in her voice. A few times he'd pretended not to immediately hear her, just to hear her say it again.

"Yes?"

"Are you happy?"

"Yes, love. I'm happy."

The world stilled for a brief moment, until she pulled her head away from his chest, eyebrows raised. Heat rushed his neck like a tidal wave, wrapping itself over his ears and around his face.

"That is —" he stammered, looking away, "Ah, I… I didn't mean —"

She kissed him on the cheek, quieting his stumbling. For a while she looked at him, her smile bright like the sun. Then something shifted, casting a shadow over her features. He watched her as she unwrapped herself from him and walked over to the edge of the balcony, where she rested herself against the balustrade.

"Do you trust me?" she asked next, looking down into her glass.

"… Of course I do."

"That's good." She stared into her drink, considering. "Look… there's something I wanted to discuss tonight. About the ball."

He angled his head, waiting. Part of him had dared to think they might make it through an evening without it coming up in conversation. He quietly told himself he should have known better. "What about it?"

"I realised something today, entertaining that Duchess. About… us. While we're there." She glanced at him, discomfort laced in every aspect of her expression. "I, eh… Well, first we'll be going there, obviously. Then we'll stay at the Duke's estate for a night. And then there's the event itself, of course."

"That… would be the general sequence of events, yes."

"Right," she said. "I mean, that part's obvious, I wasn't implying that you don't… Well, you know what I mean. What I meant more is, while we're there… I thought that it might be better… if we, you know…" She exhaled loudly, tapping her nails on the balustrade beside her. "I thought it better the Orlesian court is not aware of our relationship, while we're there."

"Ah…" He felt his shoulders sagging a little. "That's alright. I don't want us to draw that kind of attention."

"Exactly!"

"Alright then…" Her expression didn't change much, despite his agreeing with her. "Eh… is there something else?"

"Well," she muttered, shifting from one foot to the other. "It's just… it's been a while since I've done my thing."

"Your thing?"

"The voice, the playing, the… manipulation," she said hesitantly, her expression slightly pained. "You haven't seen me like that in a while, and well… we weren't close at the times I did that. Not like this, in any case."

Cullen observed her for a moment, letting the consequences of her words play out in his head. His thoughts went back to Haven; a town full of glittery heads loudly criticising his men and his camp, Elsa drifting between them with a perfect smile. Glimpses of that had returned around the time she was named Inquisitor, or when he caught sight of her entertaining noble visitors, but he had not properly heard her don her flawless voice in some time. He took a deep breath and walked towards her, placing his hands either side of her on the stone.

"You're saying you'll be less available for a while. Is that it?"

She smiled apologetically. "I think I'll have to be, if I want to pull this off. Is… that okay? It's not about you."

"Of course it's okay. Whatever you need to do."

"Thank you," she sighed, her expression finally relaxing. "You're being very understanding. Not ox-like at all."

"Well, this ox may be relieved he won't be expected to claim any dances."

Her eyes grew wide. "But that's the most fun part of the whole thing!"

"Not for me," he said, shaking his head. "I can't."

"Any idiot can dance," she laughed dismissively, then quickly added, "Not that you are one… I just mean, well, dancing is something that anyone can do, to a degree."

"Very small degree then, in some cases."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." She snatched the glass from his hand, and placed both on the balustrade. "Come on," she said assertively, taking his hands and dragging him to the middle of the balcony, "Dance with me."

"I don't know how," he protested.

She brought one of his hands in the air, while guiding the other to her waist. Her own came to rest on his shoulder. She tilted her head, squinting as she listened to the tune rising up from the tavern and mouthed along silently with the count of the beat. "Alright, easy enough. Just follow me."

He stiffly stepped along with her moving legs, following too late and failing to match the length of her stride. She halted after a number of steps, which had brought them roughly back to where they began.

"Alright," she said, squeezing his shoulder. "First, relax. Second, come closer." She pressed herself into him, giving him cause to slide his hand into the small of her back.

"You suggest I do this at the Winter Palace?" he asked, leaning in further to brush his nose against hers.

"You'll definitely be popular again if you do," she murmured. "With more than just the dowagers. Now, try to feel what I'm doing. Imagine a sword fight, if you will. If I make a move, you match where I go, no?"

"That depends on the situation and whether I am on the offence or —"

"Oh, shush. Just pay attention."

The pressure against his hip lessened as the pull of her hand gently urged him towards her. He stepped forward, trying to maintain the contact with her body. Her waist shifted ever so slightly, signalling her step towards the side. Finally, she pushed into him, bringing them back to their starting position.

"Great," she said brightly. "Now, try to take the lead, I'll follow you. Forward, close, side, close, backwards, close. That's all it is."

"Alright… can you keep counting?"

"Sure." She waited a moment, listening for the song below. "Here we go."

They moved to the count of her voice, his motions slowly loosening with each repeat. Her hand lay inside his own, her other steadied him by the shoulder. The ends of her hair swayed with every step, stroking along his hand holding the curve of her back. He eventually directed his attention away from the steps and focused on her face. Her smile was warm and calm, her eyes full of joyful affection, despite his clumsy attempt at an activity she enjoyed so much. She hadn't expressed how she felt yet — but he sensed it with all his heart.

He was happy. It hadn't taken him more than a second to answer that question. In itself, this was something he had scarce believed possible in recent years. But despite the unfamiliarity of the sensation, there was no mistaking it.

How bad could the ball possibly be, as long as that was the case?

o - o - o

A week later, he watched her emerge from Grand Duke Gaspard's estate.

_Oh… it's bad. Quite bad._

He couldn't speak the words, of course he couldn't. He could only watch, a torrent of negativity swirling in his chest that had nowhere to go. They'd had a few more nights together, ones that she spent with him alone rather than their other companions, but they had passed too quickly. Then they'd left, travelling from camp, to roadside tavern, to village, to camp, to tavern, to village, to estate. They had few moments alone, let alone shared nights. With each day, her manners became more controlled, her expressions more restrained. Her voice lost its huskiness together with the amiability of her accent. The Herald had risen from Haven's ashes, talking calmly with anyone they met on the road and graciously greeting the Grand Duke upon their arrival with a low curtsy.

Her dress was an ensemble of different fabrics he'd seen pass by in the war room — a shimmery, icy blue that shifted in the light and various shades of grey. It spread out from her hips in a flowing skirt. Overlaying it was a layer of white lace, nearly transparent at her waist and growing more dense towards the bottom, like flecks of falling snow that pillowed around her feet. The bodice was closer to armour than dress, yet no less elegant. It was the only aspect he'd given input on, firmly arguing for something that offered her protection from potential danger. It was constructed from silvery steel and white leather, sharp bands that framed the curve of her hips, hugged her ribs, and lined her shoulders. On her sternum, the watchful eye of the Inquisition shone brightly. Her eyes were lined with a dark wing, her lips a deep red; both hardly recognisable.

She was still beautiful, but she unnerved him more than ever, more even than the times he felt her mana stir beneath his touch. He watched her move down the path, guided by Gaspard leading her towards the carriage awaiting them. Josephine and Leliana joined them, while he, Cassandra, Vivienne and Varric were to take the second one pulling up. The dwarf cast him an understanding look, patting him on the shoulder as the two watched her carriage pull away, before getting into their own.

Elsa was slightly ahead of them by the time they reached the Winter palace, gliding alongside the Duke as he led her inside the palace garden. Hushed whispers commented on her beauty, her grace, her poise. She wasted no time as Gaspard, who seemed positively enamoured, temporarily left her to her own devices. She drifted from group to group, talking animatedly and laughing a laugh that had not been hers for months.

The make-up hid the slight variations in her skin, the coal overshadowed her subtle expressions. Whatever might have been left for him to deduce her mood or her thoughts — difficult as it already was in a normal situation — was hidden deep behind her mask. The distance between them slowly continued to grow, with her spreading her wings and soaring and him remaining stuck on the ground. He told himself it was only a couple of hours, that by tonight she could return to normal, and by tomorrow they'd be on their way back to Skyhold where none of this existed. He knew that… but he couldn't feel it. So all Cullen could do, his headache pulsing dully against the back of his mind, was watch her walk away from him, disappearing in the sea of sparkling hats and masks, while a painful truth settled itself in his stomach.

She wasn't his tonight, and he could not protect her here.


	32. All That Glitters

She sat still in the darkness, feeling the coolness of the surface stretching out beneath her. Some distance away, the first set of steps led upwards. More appeared as she focused on it, winding and turning, up and down, in and out, giving rise to the hundreds of doors. It was not an image she had actively entertained before Envy had forced it upon her, but she realised it had been there long before the demon exposed it. She'd shared it with Solas in their practice and he had suggested she use it, make it a tool, something to own rather than fear. Now she explored her inner labyrinth every day, labelling the doors and ordering things behind them as a way to make sense of the world. There were many she did not dare approach as of yet, but they were in there with her. For the moment, that was enough.

Her mana roamed the dark in its gradually expanding confinement, warding the space from potential intruders. Its form shifted with the day, her physical state, and her mood. At times it slithered like a snake, rustled its wings, stalked like a predator, or ran like a hound. When she grew anxious it reared its head and bared its fangs, ready to protect her with all its might. When she was calm it observed her in quiet, waiting for her command. She still didn't like how unpredictable it could be, and only released her grip on its leash in short bursts of time. Yet with every day that she paid it a visit, she slowly grew to respect and understand it more.

One entryway was open, only a few flights above where she sat, its light spilling out into the dusk. She breathed deeply, briefly allowing the warmth that blossomed in her chest. The space was easily accessed these days, through an open arch rather than a heavy set door like most of the others. It was a place she went to in moments of quiet, when her thoughts drifted from a report or within a boring conversation. His eyes, his touch, his smile, and the sound of his laughter — it was all there, available to brighten her day when the weight of it threatened to take her down.

Except today. Today, she had no place for his light, no room for his warmth. She could not allow herself to become distracted, no matter the tediousness of her anticipated conversation partners. At home, people had played at the local version of the Game; it paled in comparison to the real thing. She'd done alright in the first round, playing the match from Haven as her home turf. Now, however, she was about to enter the viper's nest. Even if she could bring Cullen's influence in with her, she didn't want to. It was too good — too pure — to let the venom anywhere near it. Any special attention on her end would mark him as a target, and create a possible weakness for her that she could not afford. So she got up, her magic curling its body around her feet like a cat and trailing her as she walked the steps towards the door. She found the handle with some effort and, with a sigh, pulled it shut.

"Are you ready, darling?"

Elsa left the labyrinth behind, opening her eyes to the blinding riches of her bedroom in Duke Gaspard's estate. She'd been surprised at the interior, expecting something more austere from a military man. Perhaps, for Orlesian standards, the gold trims and satin furnishings were positively barren. After growing used to Haven and Skyhold, however, it was overwhelming. She stood before the mirror, unbroken and larger than the one in her quarters, and performed a last evaluation of the result several hours of work had brought.

The bodice with the armoured panels hung heavily from her shoulders, the shape of it forcing them backwards and preventing her from slouching. The tightness of the underlying corset — Vivienne's fastening rivalling that of her mother — further raised her up, making the most of her modest chest. The garment flowed smoothly into the intricately designed skirt, perfectly measured to graze the ground with the size of heels she was wearing. The arches of her feet were stiff within the shoes, unpractised from having been inside travelling boots most of the time for the past months. One of them pinched her skin, undoubtedly resulting in a blister by the end of the night. Her thighs furthermore felt warm under the many layers, especially where the leather holster dug into her skin and carried her hunting knife. Rounding off the picture of discomfort was her make-up — black liner to emphasise her almond eyes, a rare shimmer on their lids from Madame de Fer's collection, pores brushed into submission, lips lined to perfect their shape — and her hair, braided to a crown with the rest of it spilling down in carefully draped, flowing curls.

Madame de Fer had appeared in the reflection beside her. She was dressed in all white herself, donning her signature headgear and heels to make her tower over any man at the ball. A different tactic than the one Elsa employed, complimenting hers if gentle persuasion did not turn out to be effective enough.

"I am ready," Elsa answered, her voice pitched perfectly. "Let us go down."

_Let's play._

o - o - o

"My lady Inquisitor." Gaspard bowed low before her, pacing himself with her curtsy. His icy eyes shimmered and the scars on his face twitched with a smile she knew well, signalling his approval of her appearance. "It is a rare event in Orlais indeed, when stories do not oversell the subject. Yet in your case, I believe none of the accounts have done justice to your beauty. We will make quite an entrance."

She smiled, raising her chin a notch to draw his attention to her neckline. He had no personal interest in her, that much was clear. His only design in appearing with her was to shake the status quo. Every detail of her appearance — from the armour woven into her dress, to the shade of colour on her lips — was designed to do just that, and he was skilled enough in the Game to recognise it. It was an unexpected and pleasant surprise to him that, besides a slap in the Court's face, the controversial Inquisitor would provide him with a trophy to decorate his arm as well.

They stepped into the carriage, where Josephine handed Elsa her mask. It was grey with a layer of white lace, matching her outfit. She held it in her lap, letting her fingers trace the details that decorated its edges; curly shapes carved from metal, framing the marriage between her family's heraldry and her new clan — two rearing draft horses flanking the symbol of the Inquisition. In Ostwick, their emblem was a sign of power. Here, it was a mark of deficiency. It would be up to her to turn it into something else.

The carriage pulled to a stop and she looked out the window, her breath catching in her throat as she gazed upon the palace. It was massive, its size only matched by its majesty. Large trees, more vibrant green in the early summer light than any she'd seen in Ferelden or the Free Marches, lined the path towards the great marble staircase. Spires rose up in symmetry from either side of the main edifice, it itself lined with archways and pillars of smooth stone with shining trims. Golden lions guarded the entrance — teeth bared at unwelcome intruders, claws digging into their marble pedestals.

"Beautiful, no?" Josephine said quietly, her eyes shimmering with admiration.

Gaspard stepped outside and held out his hand to her. Heads started turning in the direction of their carriage, anticipation rising with the quieting of the chatter. Elsa inhaled deeply, steeling herself one last time. Then she gracefully climbed from the box, careful to allow the court a long look at her features before hiding them behind the mask.

She made the rounds in the garden, engaging in small talk while keeping her ear open to the murmurs around her. It was a far cry from the gasps of shock she had received upon her first visit to Val Royeux, but the news of her magic had clearly spread beyond the mountains. However, it did not seem to go beyond the general disdain of her being a mage — perhaps the templars' concerns had remained within the Order. The gossip was mixed in with speculation surrounding her survival, hushed voices commenting on her looks, and thinly veiled sneers over her lineage. She'd taken a hit before even setting foot in the place, but it didn't seem like anything that was impossible to mitigate.

Her initial targets were those that had come to Haven. To her relief, she found that Josephine had appeased anyone startled by the fight at Therinfal exceedingly well. They received her with pleasantries and inquiries after her well-being of some sincerity, as well as requests for her to recount the closing of the Breach and her subsequent escape. She obliged them dutifully, her stomach clenching slightly as she embellished some details and omitted many others. As soon as the situation allowed, she excused herself and suggested for them to find Varric — a far more talented storyteller than herself and most eager to send them signed copies of his books after tonight's festivities, if they so wished — and ask his account of the events instead. Her own focus was on reestablishing rapport with as many of them as she could, cementing their good opinion of her to drown out those of any who did not share it yet. Far more effective than running around the palace herself was to mobilise an army of enthusiasts to do the work for her.

Gaspard, having made short work of his own rounds, came to find her not much later, offering her his arm. He strutted the steps with his chest pushed forward. Fortunately for him, he had the benefit of being a man who earned his stature to some extent at least. She let him lead her, lifting the edge of her dress as she ascended the stairs, and graciously inclined her head at any who stared at them. This man had been waging a war in name of his birthright; she doubted he was the type capable of considering himself anything but superior to whomever accompanied him. Yet she couldn't yet tell whether he could appreciate a woman beside him as his equal — the fact that his cousin's preference for diplomacy translated to weakness in his mind, did not work in his favour. To play it safe, she allowed him the spotlight for the moment.

"What is your impression of the Winter Palace thus far, Inquisitor?" he asked her, his eyes carefully appraising the looks they received as he led her through the vestibule.

_Not a real question…_

"I cannot do it justice with words, Your Highness," she replied, lowering her voice to his attention alone. "Moreover, the statues might turn their heads and hear whatever descriptions I could conjure, before twisting them into the opposite of what I endeavoured."

He let out a long chuckle — not unpleasant, though hardly sincere. "It cheers me you have the ability of seeing behind the pomp and circumstance, Inquisitor. Pray tell me, what is your purpose in coming here tonight?"

_There we go, big boy. Now, let's see you work for it._

"I was not aware we had become that close already, Your Highness," she said, smiling sweetly. "Are you sure candid is what you wish to be? I assure you it is not my custom to raise the bet as long as I am not certain my fellow players will call it."

"Perhaps we should wait for the first dance then, my lady," he smirked. "I may return your honesty once we are on the floor, where we are not overheard."

Guards with golden masks opened the doors before them. Elsa blinked at the splendour of the ball room, its many torches and candles colouring the marble interior a warm ochre. Chandeliers hung suspended from the ceiling, their crystals casting shimmering dots along the walls as they reflected the light of the sinking afternoon sun around the room. Lords and ladies stood around in small groups, dressed in the most exquisite gowns and suits, their expressions hidden behind glittering masks and fans. At the very end of the room, the Empress stood proudly watching the line of people shuffling its way towards her across the dance floor, she herself the picture of grace and elegance.

Gaspard guided her forward, momentarily distracted by a group of men calling for his attention. She allowed herself to be brought over and shown off, their hands taking turns in lifting hers as they kissed the backs of her fingers. They were of little consequence; minor lords scheming something behind the scenes as they vied for more power, undoubtedly without much effect on the larger game afoot. _Money… Influence… Sex._ The topics on their minds were boring, telegraphed in ways more transparent than the crystal of their wine glasses. She made the mental note to avoid them later in the evening; their hands, spurred on by alcohol, would attempt much more than simply hold hers if she wasn't careful. Naturally, such a circumstance would reflect much worse on her than it would on them.

She used Gaspard's momentary distraction to glance at the corner of the hall, where the door briefly opened. Solas slunk inside, invisible in servant's attire to all guests besides their own group. He'd left a few days before they did, together with Cole, the Chargers and Sera, and installed himself among the palace staff. Leliana had assured her it wasn't too difficult; with an event of this magnitude outside of the regular social season, help was always needed and qualifications were not too thoroughly checked. Sera had jumped at the prospect of utilising her Red Jenny network and sneaking around the palace like a bandit, rather than having to put up with its social obligations. Elsa had felt awkward tasking him with the role, yet he had taken it on willingly, apparently considering it an interesting challenge. It had been a relief, as was the thought that he could provide a check for the other elf, lest she got too carried away in her enthusiasm.

Solas made eye contact with her, acknowledging her arrival with the slightest of nods. He then glanced towards the Empress, silently communicating they would talk after she'd been announced. She cast her eyes down in assent and returned her attention to the Duke. The man whisked her away from the group of men some time later, criticising their characters under his breath. They walked over to the stairs, where the servant heralding the arrival of any new guests bowed deeply before them.

"Are you prepared to make history, my lady?" Gaspard asked, his gloved hand taking a firm hold of her own. "Prepare to shock the assembly by appearing as the guest of a hateful usurper."

She glanced over her shoulder to check the location of her party. They'd followed them inside, where they had quickly been accosted by various groups of their own. Leliana caught her eye, then quickly moved to collect the others and get them into position.

"It seems like the perfect night for it, Your Highness," she said, casting him a knowing look through her lashes.

He smirked his approval, then took the lead in walking her down. They turned onto the dance floor, where she felt the eyes of the room settle upon her, each stare a potential dagger. She inhaled against the tension of her corset, willing the most gracious of her smiles to stay steadily on her face. Gaspard, one arm behind his back, lifted her hand slightly as they drew closer to the Empress. She took the invitation, gracefully twirling under his arm, before sinking into a low bend of her knee as he bowed beside her.

"My dear cousin," the Empress cooed. "It brings us great pleasure to see you here tonight, and in such lovely company."

Gaspard responded to his cousin, straightening himself up in the process. He then stepped away, giving the audience to Elsa, who retained her position with her eyes cast to the ground.

"You are most welcome in the Winter Palace, Inquisitor," Celene sang, her hands moving with practised elegance to bring further weight to her remarks. "Your arrival is like a cool breeze on a hot summer's day."

Elsa answered, raising her head to examine the Empress' party from the corners of her vision. Multiple guards, their faces concealed behind gold as well — a perfect guise for an assassin, if they had managed to infiltrate her inner circle that far. Her ladies in waiting stood some distance behind her, assessing Elsa from behind lace fans that fluttered like butterflies. Beside the Empress was a woman she did not recognise, but who was soon introduced to her as Gaspard's sister. The other regarded her with surprise, her eyes narrowing briefly at the murmur that rippled through the crowd once she rose to her feet. Elsa cast her a long look as she took her leave, while faintly hearing Cassandra snap in annoyance at the herald reading out her endless name.

She found a group to join as she waited for the first dance to start, flashing Dorian a look that urged him to join her. He played his part well, evidently taking great enjoyment in the shock his appearance drew, while simultaneously winning people over rapidly with his smile and impeccable manners. His presence, disconcerting to her up until a few weeks ago, gave her great comfort in the current setting. Under the guise of his amiable performance, she felt the slight stirring of Solas sidling up beside her, his hands busying themselves with refilling her glass.

"It's good to see you," she said quietly.

"And you, Inquisitor."

"How has it been?"

"Interesting," he murmured. "While the nobility try to avoid stepping on any toes in here, their followers are tripping over each other behind the scenes."

She turned her head, feigning interest in one of the paintings. Dorian in turn laughed brightly, drawing the attention further towards himself. "What do you mean?"

"There are whispers among the elves working for Briala," Solas murmured, passing her a set of notes. "It would seem someone has gone missing, and a transfer that was supposed to take place never happened. Sera found these. Something is about to go down, and it is not going according to plan."

Elsa quickly flipped through the papers — a note from the Empress fearing for Gaspard, Briala's people detailing an exchange of sorts, and Gaspard writing the Empress to plot against Briala.

"Is each of them planning something to undermine the others?" she asked, handing him back the notes.

"Are you surprised?"

"I suppose I shouldn't be," Elsa sighed, "but I'd hoped it was only the assassin to worry about tonight."

"It is our primary focus," he affirmed, glancing around for anyone paying attention to them. "We will gain entry to the servants' quarters and investigate. Meanwhile, I have asked Sera to infiltrate the Empress' apartment."

"Alright, I will see if I can get something out of Gaspard," Elsa murmured, her attention drawn to the gong signalling the start of the ball. "Try to find what you can about this missing person."

"Very well. Good luck, Inquisitor."

"You too," she whispered, and adding, "Solas?" His ear twitched in her direction. "Be careful."

The corner of his mouth turned up briefly. Then he vanished among the people streaming towards the dance floor.

o - o - o

If the Game could be compared to waging a war, then the ballroom would be its battleground. In the Free Marches, matters between competing families would be settled via the Grand Tourney. It was the one event that brought the different city states together, yet it served another purpose for the most prominent clans. Each would sponsor their own champions, who would compete in the joust and melee in their name. Although the knights participating were hardly aware of whatever issues were playing out in the background, their performance functioned as a proxy for such conflicts nonetheless. Victory was won by skill and honoured until the next competition. Compared to Orlais, it was an extremely efficient system that Elsa now felt she should have appreciated more.

At first glance, the ballroom was no different than the ring at the Tourney, except for the players' steel being switched for high heels and their shields for masks. Representatives lined up on either side of the stage. Each pairing, it itself, provided a first signal to the onlookers on the balconies above, who were eagerly watching their champions compete and betting on their success. An intended marriage, a fulfilment of an earlier promise, a play for power, a tentative alliance, a reluctant concession after a successful bribe… For Elsa, it was a way to bring the room's attention to herself and the Inquisition. There was knowledge in the room; whispers and rumours, some of which true, most of it not, but all of potential use. Unlike in the Free Marches, in Orlais nothing was ever what it seemed. Even the most trivial bit of information, in the right hands, could illuminate something that would otherwise remain obscured. It was long decided between Josephine, Leliana and herself that tonight, ideally, should be about more than merely preventing the Empress' assassination. Now, she was about to play their first card.

She bowed deep on the first chord, her eyes on her partner on the opposite end of the floor, her mind on those around her. Her appearance was a success for now, drawing equal parts admiration and envy. Men were easy — mostly, she existed for their enjoyment and they did not expect much more of her. Depending on the person, she would be a listening ear, a flattering supporter, or — on a rare occasion — a sparring partner of equal wit and intelligence. Women were… trickier. She was an oddity to the older ones and the childless, an interesting diversion to an otherwise predictable evening. To any girl of similar age and their mothers trying to marry them off, however, she was an unwelcome trespasser. It would be a fine line to ride between using her status as Andraste's Herald in appeasing their resentment, and not becoming a bore for the rest of the company.

Gaspard was a skilled dancer, his steps confident as he guided her through the movements. She matched his motions, bending her knee slightly deeper to equal his heavier footfall and adding an extra flourish to each spin. For the moment, their motivations were aligned, their activity one of shared interest in getting to know the other party and make an impression on those around. With every suggestion from his hand — turning her wrist, guiding her side, pushing her into a dip — she followed him flawlessly. They spun in unison, equally matched, to appreciative murmurs from the gallery.

One of the couples brushed close by — too close for the dance they were performing — and briefly caused Gaspard to shorten his stride. They recovered with ease, but Elsa felt her guard rise. In this setting, inexperience could not be the explanation for a near collision. Someone was making a play and either of them was likely to be the target. Her suspicion was confirmed when, in the following movement, there was a disruption to the flow of her skirt. She quickly pulled the fabric out of harm's way, masking it with an additional twirl that drew utters of admiration. Stepping out from under Gaspard's arm, she glanced around, trying to identify the offending couple. Two girls that were part of the lineup caught her eye, each with bouncy blond curls and wearing identical violet dresses. They were pretty, though with little sense of identity or much else to recommend them. The main thing that made them stand out were the scornful stares aimed at her whenever she came close to either of them in the dance.

_Subtle._

Though she wasn't surprised by their animosity, she did wonder what had caused them to move against her so rapidly. Elsa surveyed the room, quickly spotting an older lady wearing a dress in the same gaudy colour as the sisters. The woman was part of a group, crowding a lone figure standing against the wall. A brief opening in the circle provided her with an explanation — a flash of golden hair and a dark grey uniform with a blue sash. She bit back a derisive snort; had it been enough to clap their eyes on him the moment he walked in, or had they actually bothered to speak with him too? In the first case, their dislike would simply be based on her proximity to him through their working relationship. In the latter, perhaps it had been something he'd said about her.

It hardly mattered. She stilled the flicker in her chest, channelling it into a smile for her dance partner as they met each other again in the arrangement. He spun her around and she flexed her leg, extending it slightly further than the dance required. Behind her, one of the girls tripped and stumbled into her sibling, knocking them both into another pair of dancers. Their mother whipped around as another pointed out the scene to her, her face scarlet with shame, and silently ordered them off the floor. By the time they had collected themselves and shuffled away, Gaspard had long swept her towards the other end of the floor.

"I see you play to win, my lady," he said approvingly.

"I am sure I do not know what you are speaking of. It is most unfortunate some take to dance without the proper balance and coordination to guide their performance."

"Very unfortunate indeed. One should know the basics before attempting any of the more complex movements."

"You are clearly no stranger to the intricacies of the art yourself," she offered, gliding around him. "Have you planned your dances for the evening, Your Highness?"

"To an extent," he conceded, his eyes trailing her motions. "One must allow for some spontaneity. Especially when others may interfere with the lineup."

"And who might want to do something like that?"

He pulled her towards him, his strong hand forcefully taking hold of her side. "I am sure you can guess, my lady," he said, steely eyes darkening. "My cousin does not show the best judgement in the company she keeps." He took her through his suspicions, painting his case with every stride across the floor. She let him talk, encouraging him with her eyes, though he didn't need much. Eventually he dragged her even closer, slowly turning on the spot as the music began to wind down. "I think it is time you answer my earlier inquiry, Inquisitor," he said in a low voice, so close his breath was hot on her ear. She suppressed a shiver. "What is your purpose in accepting my invitation?"

"I am fighting a war, your Highness," she said gently, distancing herself to look him in the eye. "My purpose here is to secure Orlais' support in doing so."

"Then our purposes may be aligned tonight," he replied, looking down at her with a dark smile. "You help me, and I will help you. I think you will see it could be mutually beneficial to the both of us."

The music ended and the pairs turned towards the orchestra to applaud their performance. As the next song started, Gaspard took her hand and led her back to the edge of the floor. He bowed briefly, giving her a last assessing look, then turned and walked up the stairs. Soon after, she was surrounded by a group of bystanders.

"Dear Inquisitor," one of the ladies tittered, "it was most satisfying to watch you on the floor. Not what I would have expected from a Free Marcher at all. I confess I thought you all too busy with farming to do much dancing."

Elsa considered her, stilling the beat of her heart. The woman had a daughter of her own in tow, a mousy type with little charm, who was likely to be thrown in the path of many men before the evening was over. Without the pair in violet, her chances had undoubtedly increased.

"Even the most sophisticated of dances can turn stale if the pairs never change, your ladyship," she said, flashing an amiable smile. "Perhaps, once in a while, a small dose of country manners is exactly what is needed to stir the mix."

"Indeed," the woman smiled, echoing the appreciative chatter of those around her.

She inclined her head, receiving their curtsies, and gracefully spun on her heel to leave the dance floor. The group of vultures surrounding Cullen seemed to have thinned for the moment. It had been instinct more than conscious thought that had provoked her; exactly the kind of thing she had told herself not to do. Yet… it seemed to have worked in her favour. Their eyes crossed for a moment, though it was hard to make out his expression behind his mask. She noted how much it bothered her; he was usually a rather open book. With some effort she directed her attention away from him and towards her next target, failing to calm the clenching in her chest.

o - o - o

For the next hour, she danced more dances or drifted from group to group, all to further flesh out the picture she had tried to sketch in her preparation for the event. In the process, whatever reservations the court had about her magic or her heritage seemed to be gradually overcome. Men complained about their unfaithful wives, women lamented their gambling husbands, relatives and supposed friends stabbed each other's backs with sharp sneers and rumours… It was all easily drawn to the surface — a look, a question, a listening ear, a flattering compliment. She absorbed it all, filing it away so that it may be of use later on. Within it all, her armour felt heavy on her body and her corset kept her from breathing. She thought she might grow faint momentarily, until she caught sight of Varric. He raised his eyebrows, briefly expressing his own fatigue with a roll of his eyes and a smirk. She smiled back at him and excused herself from the cluster of people clamouring for her attention, allowing herself a short break away from the crowd.

Her path was cut off by a raven-haired woman in burgundy dress. Her yellow eyes, feral like a cat's, fixed her in place, willing her to a halt. Elsa took a slow breath and continued to walk, circling around the woman until the other had her back towards the ballroom and she herself had the view of it. The woman pulled up the corner of her mouth in recognition of the play, but made no attempt to counter it.

"Inquisitor," she said slowly, letting the word roll on her tongue. "Fabled Herald of the Faith. Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of blessed Andraste herself. What could bring such an exalted creature here to the Imperial Court, I wonder? Do even you know?"

If the hair and sharp eyes were not enough, the sarcasm in her tone did everything to remind her of Hawke. Elsa smiled, suspecting that there was little point in playing with this woman, whoever she was. Yet, it would be interesting to see how she dealt. "That is quite a picture you paint," she said gently. "Please, do continue. With such an aptitude for drama, you must be able to conjure a reason for my presence."

"You are being coy…" the other murmured. "Very well, never mind your reason. You have been very busy tonight, and perhaps… even well before?"

"Not busy enough it would seem," she conceded, "for I am at a disadvantage as to your identity, my lady."

"Clearly," the woman smirked. "I am no lady."

"If you say so… and I am no exalted creature. Let us not waste time; my name is Elsa. What is yours?"

"Such manners…" she laughed softly. "You may call me Morrigan, occult adviser to Empress Celene."

"Occult adviser? Are you a mage?"

"I am indeed," she said, quite proudly. "I am surprised your Spymaster did not inform you of my being here. She and I go way back."

"Do you now?" Elsa murmured, casting a glance towards Leliana standing some distance away. The Spymaster frowned when she saw her conversation partner, her expression darkening quickly. "Dare I wager the relationship was not all positive?"

"That would be an accurate assessment," Morrigan mused. "Although I'd have expected her to be grateful. After all, I kept her lady love from sacrificing herself rather stupidly in the fight with the archdemon during the Fifth Blight."

"You might want to have this conversation with her instead," Elsa suggested, raising her brow. "It would be more productive, if her gratitude is what you are after. Is there a reason you stopped me, and not your old friend?"

She lifted her chin, her smile one of pure self-satisfaction. "You have brought people with you, hunting in all the dark corners of the palace. I wonder… perhaps we hunt the same prey?" Elsa merely quirked her brow, unwilling to confirm the presence of her agents without something in return. Morrigan chuckled in response, a soft sing-song sound that sent a trill through the air, and slid two fingers under her neckline. "I found this on an unwelcome guest recently," she said, conjuring a key from her dress, "whom I killed in these very halls. An agent of Tevinter. What his purpose here was, I imagine you know better than I."

"I may… Where does that lead?"

"I cannot say. But if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side to find out. You, however, can."

Elsa considered her, wondering what it was that Leliana might be able to share about the woman before her. The resemblance to Hawke remained strong, although the Champion did not share the flair for theatrics that this mage seemed to enjoy. If something would happen to the Empress, an 'occult adviser' would be the first suspect, making it unlikely she wished to see the assassin succeed. It rendered her current motivations in speaking with her, perhaps, earnest.

The key she was holding out was brass, and rather unassuming. It wouldn't match any of the doors, with their solid gold handles, that she had gone through to enter the palace. Perhaps it led to a storage cupboard, a kitchen, a servant's entrance… Elsa's eyes were drawn across the room, to where Solas reappeared through one of the doors with Cole behind him. The boy seemed as invisible to those around him as he had been at Therinfal to anyone but her. It was fortunate, for the crimson streak lining the side of his face would have been sure to cause a fuss.

"Please do not leave the Empress' side again," she told Morrigan, giving her a meaningful look. "I will look into this matter — Ah, no," she added, waving away the key held out to her with a smile. "Thank you, but I do not believe that will be necessary."

o - o - o

Elsa weaved through the crowd, excusing herself as politely as she could from anyone wishing to talk to her, until she could join the advisers who had gathered in the corner. She shot Varric a look, who nodded and quickly took up a position not far away, ready to intercept anyone trying to gain their attention. Solas moved up to them, no longer as bothered to keep up his disguise as he had been before. Whatever they'd found behind the scenes, it put him in no mood to beat around the bush.

"Faces inside their faces, lying with a layer that tells the truth," Cole muttered, glancing around him. "I don't know how to help them."

"It's alright, Cole," Solas said evenly. "You are helping us."

"Is he okay?" Elsa asked, eyeing the boy. He seemed a lot more disturbed than usual.

"There is a lot going on," the elf replied. "The Venatori are here, we encountered them in the apartments. An emissary to the Council of Heralds has been killed, as have some of Briala's people. She seems to think Gaspard is culpable."

"Is there reason to believe he would be?" Cullen inquired.

"A dagger with the Chalons family crest," Solas said. "Briala is interested in seeing him eliminated tonight. She has offered her allegiance to us, if we help her accomplish that."

"As has the Empress," Josephine added. "Her handmaidens approached me with Celene's good intentions of working with the Inquisition, should the evening turn out in her favour."

"Wow," Elsa said sarcastically, "Look how popular we are."

"What did Gaspard tell you?" Cullen asked her, shifting in place.

"He plays his cards close to his chest," Elsa murmured, her mind rapidly speeding through the implications of what they had found. "But he didn't come here without a plan. I wouldn't be surprised if he brought people in, like we have."

"Blackwall reports the guard caught some men trying to enter through the gardens," he replied, confirming her suspicion. "Though supposedly they weren't chevaliers. We can't know for sure if some of them succeeded."

"We'll need more information then. Though I don't think he had that emissary killed," she added, focusing on Solas. "I don't believe he would be so careless to use a family blade. Seems to me like someone trying to frame him."

"But who else would have such a dagger?" Josephine asked. "Those are valuable possessions, if they bear the family crest."

"Things like that get flaunted often enough by lesser family members at parties and in drunken gambles," Leliana offered. "Anyone could have snatched one at a previous event if the bearer was careless. Although, of course… there is also another Chalons at this party."

Their eyes drifted to the Duchess standing some distance away from Celene, talking with a small group of guests. Her head was slightly turned towards them, her attention divided between their group and her own conversation.

"Framing her brother while working for Corypheus?" Elsa said quietly. "It could be."

Perhaps it had been her plan already, perhaps she was spurred on by their group looking at her. Whatever her reason, the Duchess detached herself from the group she was with and started walking the length of the hall towards them.

"Keep gathering information," she told the others. "I think some things are about to become clearer."

"Be careful," Cullen told her.

Elsa looked at him, finally able to see his eyes now that he was closer. They rested uncomfortably on her, drifting over her face to uncover something within. She hadn't seen him do that since she first joined the Inquisition… It made her stomach turn. It wasn't how they were supposed to be anymore.

"Inquisitor," Solas said urgently, looking between them. "Another matter, before you go."

She tore her gaze away. "What?"

"This." He held out a golden locket on a chain with elven symbols carved in the front. "Sera found it in the Empress' vault."

"Her vault?" She picked it up, examining it briefly before handing it back. "Briala's?"

"Possibly."

Elsa bit her lip, thinking quickly as she glanced over to the Duchess. She was halfway towards them, briefly accosted by another cluster of nobles. "Talk to her," Elsa suggested, and adding to Josephine, "Check with the handmaidens, get the details on that relationship. We'll reconvene here when I'm done."

o - o - o

She hadn't danced with a woman before, yet she couldn't very well turn down the offer once it was made. It was the first play by the Duchess, the second was that she expected her to lead. Elsa knew the dance well enough, yet it took her more concentration to perform the male side of the movements than it would have otherwise. Undoubtedly this was to put her off balance, distract her from answering the many questions levelled her way during the dance. She breathed deeply, willing any other thoughts from her mind as she focused on the woman before her. Her manners were calm, her expression more open than it had been at the start of the night. It sent a chill down her spine, a lurch of nausea to her stomach… She wasn't sure of her involvement, not in the least. By all accounts, she might be the only reasonable person here, arranging the event to finally stop the conflict between her cousin and brother. Yet despite that, the small efforts to trip her up, the glances she cast around the room to evaluate the crowd around her, her willingness to point the finger at her brother…

It was behaviour Elsa was no stranger to. Now however, after a few hours of being amongst it again and it being employed with such little reservation, even with pride… the realisation crept up on her like ants crawling unto her skin. She surveyed the room. Solas was in the corner, talking to Briala. Josephine emerged from the garden with the Empress, speaking in hushed voices. All around her was the rest of the Inquisition, performing whatever was needed for their reconnaissance work. She wasn't alone anymore. Perhaps… she didn't need to play this game like she had done in the past.

One person was missing from the others busying themselves with the surrounding lords and ladies. He stood at the edge of the gallery, looking down on the dance floor while wilfully ignoring the efforts of the people once more trying to claim his attention. Though his features remained obscured, she could feel his attention firmly focused on her — poised like the golden lions that guarded the palace gates, ready to strike as soon as something bad would befall her.

She bade the Duchess a good night at the final note, faintly hearing the admiring hum of the crowd at her performance. The others gathered around her as soon as she left the floor, listening intently to the lead on the mercenaries Gaspard had brought into the palace. Cullen gave a sign to Solas, who quickly vanished to retrieve Blackwall and investigate the royal wing. Elsa watched him go, only to have her attention drawn back to Leliana with a snap.

"I'm sorry, perhaps I didn't hear you correctly," she said, frowning. "Are you suggesting we let Corypheus win?"

"Orlais needs to come out of this strong," Leliana affirmed. "It doesn't need Celene for that to be the result."

"Leliana!" Josephine gasped. "Do you even hear what you are saying?"

"She's not wrong," Cullen conceded. "Gaspard could come out victorious tonight and make a valuable ally."

_No…_

Elsa stared at him. Was it her influence that had done this, or had the evening gotten to him? Surely he could not believe Gaspard's claim to the throne was so strong that it justified them turning the other cheek on murder? It couldn't be. Whatever effort she had wanted to make in shielding him from the Game, it had rubbed off on him nonetheless. Whatever their success tonight, she'd failed if that was the case. She'd failed him.

"I will not hear of it," she said sternly. "We are not here to install a new ruler in Orlais when it already has one."

"It is not enough for Celene to come out of this merely alive," Leliana argued. "She needs to be uncontested and victorious, or saving her life will all be for nought."

"Then we bring her victory," Elsa spat. "Get me what I need on Gaspard and we'll end his temper tantrum once and for all. I will not stand —"

The mark on her hand surged with a flash, shooting up her arm and setting her nerves on fire. She bit back a scream, gripping her wrist to steady herself. The others moved towards her in a reflex, but she held up her hand to stop them. The attention of several onlookers had already been drawn towards her.

"Are you okay?" Cullen asked, his hands frozen in place on their way to her.

"There is a rift here," she said through gritted teeth, blinking back tears at the burning sensation. "I think it just opened."

"That could be a trap," Leliana murmured, looking around as if the rift might be hovering somewhere in the ballroom. "Someone trying to lure you out."

"It might be," Elsa replied, "but we can't risk being overrun by demons here. Cover for me while I go find it."

"I'll go with you," Cullen offered.

"No," she sighed. "Please, stay and protect the Empress."

"We will get into position," Leliana affirmed, already signalling to the others in the room. "Be quick."

They turned away, while Elsa saw her party gather by the door. Cullen lingered with her, amber eyes fraught with concern behind his mask.

"There are weapons hidden in the vestibule," he said, his voice constricted. "You… if there is fighting —"

She steeled herself against the lingering burn on her hand and stepped towards him, pushing his mask up while swiftly pulling off her own. He stared at her, confused, but his eyes finally looking straight into hers.

"Hey."

"… Hello?"

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I thought us being together would be a weakness in here. I was wrong."

His chest rose with a sudden intake of air, as if he hadn't breathed all evening. She bit her lip, thinking hard through the ramifications of what she wanted to do. She couldn't predict them, not entirely. There were pros and cons, but she couldn't tell how long each column was. There was no obvious choice — she only had her own desire to guide her.

"Are you okay with being a bit of a spectacle for the rest of the night?"

"I feel I already have been," he scoffed, each word full of derision. "Can't see how it would get any worse."

"Good."

She didn't need to raise herself up much, her heels already bringing herself to near eye level with him. It was fleeting, much quicker than any kiss they'd shared in the war room or their chambers, but no less intense. She held on to the collar of his suit, much less satisfying than the hairs of his cloak, but his hands found her all the same. They held her by her waist, warm and sturdy — a complete opposite from Gaspard's forceful grip, Florianne's limp coolness, or any of the other dance partners she'd had over the course of the evening. She broke away after a few seconds, a silent moment passing between them before she turned and joined her group, no longer bothered to put on her mask again.

o - o - o

The lace of her dress was torn on the edge, the armour on her bodice stained with demon ooze. She raised herself to her full length, looking down at Gaspard who seemed so much smaller now than he had done at the start of the night. Guards came out onto the balcony, taking him as they had done his sister before him after she'd exposed her treachery to the court. Elsa looked at the two women before her, Celene preciously cradling the locket in her hands like it was a fragile baby bird. She didn't know how long their gratitude would last. For the moment, however, she could feel comfortable in the knowledge that she'd done the right thing. With this outcome, she'd be able to sleep tonight.

"We thank you, Inquisitor," the Empress said, "for all your help tonight. You have found an ally in Orlais. Anything the Inquisition needs of us, we will be happy to provide."

"Just one thing, Your Radiance," Elsa said gently. "With our host unexpectedly indisposed, I am afraid we might require another place to stay tonight."

o - o - o

A murmur went through the crowd as they stepped inside. While most eyes were on the Empress as she addressed the court, more than one of the masked heads was turned towards Elsa as she stood beside her. She held her chin high, allowing them to soak up this image of the Herald of Andraste. Soon, Leliana's ravens would find them in their lavish dining halls, their gold-trimmed hallways, their imposing galleries, and their excessive bedrooms. Although they might not know it yet, they would each pledge their support to the Inquisition soon after — if not voluntarily, then via the slew of information they had acquired over the course of the evening.

Celene declared the start of proper celebration, casting her another grateful glance before she took her leave with a small curtsy. Elsa no longer bowed low, but simply acknowledged her with an inclination of her head. She remained where she was, looking down on the floor below where Cassandra was persuaded to dance by Dorian, while Bull took Vivienne around for a spin — or perhaps it was the other way around. Varric watched them go, laughing as he shared a drink with Solas, Blackwall and Sera. Josephine talked animatedly with her sister, seemingly much more at ease now that the messy part of the evening was behind them. Elsa didn't spot Leliana for the moment, nor the Empress' occult adviser… perhaps the two had gone off to speak. Cole appeared beside her, materialising out of thin air, his face still a little pained.

"Are you alright?"

"They don't want my help," he said sadly. "I could only make them forget me again, and they were happier for it."

"You can't help everyone, Cole," she said gently. "Especially those who don't want to be helped. We did good tonight, don't you doubt it."

He nodded, though he did not seem completely convinced. His eye then fell on the table before them, where some of the candles had gone out. He looked up at her expectantly. Elsa huffed a short laugh through her nose, a smile spreading involuntarily on her lips. With a deep breath she raised her hand, letting it hover before her. Her mana rose to its feet and stretched its legs.

She pulled her gaze from the table and looked across the room. Cullen stood at the balustrade, one hand in his pocket and a drink in the other. He raised the glass to her, ignoring the chatter surrounding him. She returned his smile, power surging in her veins. With a faint growl, her magic stepped into the sunlight streaming down the flights of steps from the archway above. She made the silent vow never to close that door again.

With a flick of her wrist she directed the Veil, and the candles surged to life before her.


	33. Game of Two Halves

**Mildly NSFW**

* * *

Cullen was the first to leave the ballroom. Though the party had turned more bearable once the assassination had been prevented, he'd decisively reached a limit in his ability to appease the Orlesian nobility. The food was overly lavish, with ingredients he'd never heard of nor could pronounce, yet never filling. The drinks, though highly intoxicating, were sickeningly sweet. One more comment on his eyes or his hair, one more person with severe boundary issues who tried to pinch him, and he thought he might start hitting things. He wondered how the others managed. It probably helped that none of them were battling another headache pulsing in their temples, or had to politely answer questions while hiding the trembling of their hands.

Some of his colleagues had taken to dancing once the Empress had declared the party officially started, others were chatting amongst themselves or — to his great astonishment — with the other guests. Most of them seemed quite content at that, in part because the Inquisition was no longer an affront to delicate Orlesian sensibilities since saving the Empress and the ball; he wasn't sure whether the first or the latter was more appreciated by the court. Sera got wildly drunk at an impressive speed and started chasing a serving girl, Varric happily told anecdotes to his giggling and gasping audience, and Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine chatted together like a normal group of women, rather than the leaders of an organisation fighting an ancient darkspawn.

Although he knew the outcome of the night was a good one, he found it hard to share in the optimism that now filled the room. Elsa was accosted by people constantly. Though she no longer wore her mask and her manners were a little more like her own again, she wasn't able to retreat with him in the way he would have wanted her to. While her kissing him in public had prevented any more women from shoving their daughters in his path or, on occasion, throwing themselves at him, now he was constantly asked about their relationship instead. It was none of their business and he didn't want to utter a word about it in this place. More than anything, he wanted to get back to Skyhold where the only thing he had to deal with were well-humoured smirks when someone caught him staring off into the distance or excited gossip. From his own people, he could deal with it. From the ones here, he detested it.

He escaped the room and made for the apartments where they were to stay for the night. The way there led him through the gardens, where he paused near a fountain. He breathed deeply, finding relief in the cool night air and the silence around him. He rolled his neck, took off the suit jacket that was tight around his shoulders, and loosened his collar. Then, he made the mistake of looking down.

Though it had largely been scrubbed away, blood had seeped between the tiles, leaving their edges a rusty brown in the dark. It was one of the few signs that combat had taken place at all. There had been no moment of silence, no pause in the festivities, nothing to acknowledge the fact that people had died tonight within the glittering halls and on the carefully maintained grounds. Inside the ballroom, none of the guests cared, or had even taken notice. He quietly thanked the Maker for their own people making it out alive and well, Elsa in particular, yet his stomach turned at the decadence surrounding him, and how the evidence of tonight's events had simply been swept away like a minor inconvenience.

Once he reached the apartments, it took him several minutes to find the room he'd been assigned. He happened upon it eventually, after circling the same hallway multiple times. It was marked with a pedestal beside the door, his name — middle name included — written on it in curly script. He sighed heavily and stepped inside, only to snap his eyes shut as a sharp stab pierced his forehead.

The fine furnishings reflected too brightly in the light of the many candles and the fireplace. The shine blurred his vision, while the heavy smell of perfume assaulted his nose and clouded his thoughts. He breathed to steady himself, his rational mind trying to convince himself that everything was fine. He did not want to feel this way, did not want to show this resentment to Elsa after the great success she had just managed. But he couldn't help it — he hated it here and every fibre of his being wanted to be someplace else.

His things had been brought over from Gaspard's estate and were now carefully put away around the room, as if he planned to stay forever. He strode over to the side table and grabbed a vial of the extract, downing it at once. Next, he pulled open drawer after drawer, feverishly searching for his bag. He tossed it on the bed once he found it and, hands trembling, began to collect his belongings from around the room and throwing them into it. He would sleep in the Chargers' camp tonight, under the open sky if he had to. Anywhere but here.

A knock on the door made him jump. He turned around and stared at the ornate panels, white with gold trim, as if a demon were about to burst through them.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, Cullen."

The anger sank into his stomach. The shirt he'd been holding dropped to the floor as he strode the length of the room and wrenched the door open.

She was still in her ballgown, the armoured panels shimmering in the light streaming out into the dark corridor. Her hair remained intricately braided, her painted lashes emphasised with a sharp wing. Yet underneath it all, her eyes were soft and her smile warm. The contrast was strange and unnerving.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." He stepped back, letting her into the room, and closed the door behind her. "I thought you were still… are you — are you all finished?"

"I was once I noticed you'd gone," she said. "Sorry for taking a while. I didn't want to offend anyone in the last moment."

"It's ridiculous that would even be an option," he scoffed, "after what you did for them tonight."

"I know," she said calmly, holding up a hand as a sign for him to cool his temper. "I know, but unless we want to go to war with Orlais ourselves after we deal with Corypheus, I'm not prepared to risk it. Whatever we achieved tonight, it won't last forever."

He shook his head, exhaling his frustration. When he looked back up, she was smiling at him; tired, but loving. She stepped in closer, her dress swaying with her motions, and raised her hand to touch his forehead. The backs of her fingers dragged slowly across his skin, sensing the temperature difference between them. She was cool to the touch, as usual, though not as much as she had been at other times.

"You're having a bad night."

"I'm sorry," he sighed, taking her hand. He held it against his face, breathing in her scent. There was something different about it, a hint of zest that wasn't always present. "I don't want to bring you down. You did amazing tonight."

She looked at him, a wide smile slowly spreading across her face that sparkled in her eyes. Even when she wasn't hiding herself, she tended to retain some control over her expressions. It made the surge of joy he saw now a continuously rare sight to behold. Perhaps it was a good thing — he wasn't sure the thrill it sent through his heart might not be the death of him some day.

"It was something, wasn't it?"

"It was," he murmured, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "You have the entirety of Orlais wrapped around your finger."

"Not just that," she said, vigorously shaking her head. "All of us. Everyone really came together… as a team."

He sighed, smiling back, and felt his headache slowly subsiding. Perhaps it was the extract taking effect, perhaps simply her presence… or maybe it was that lingering scent of her mana, close to the surface after she flaunted it in the face of the Orlesian elite. He'd been deeply impressed, watching her gaze upon the court, rising above them in all her beauty and grace. It had been tantalising, in a way he didn't quite understand, to see her cement that dominance by using her power so unabashedly before them. It was a surprising development — he hadn't expected his resentment for the nobility to outweigh his reservations about her magic.

"Feeling a bit better?" she asked.

"… Yeah. A bit."

"Good," she said, smiling brightly. "Let's celebrate properly then. I feel —" She'd turned towards the room, halting when she noticed the overturned drawers and open wardrobe. Eventually her gaze fell onto the half-packed bag on the bed. "… Were you going somewhere?"

"Ah, I… thought I'd sleep in camp tonight. I don't want to be here."

"Oh…" She stood still, something stirring behind her eyes as she looked at him. Then, seemingly making up her mind, she walked towards the vanity and picked up a cloth laid out next to the wash basin. With purposeful motions she started cleaning off her make-up, staining the water with every rinse. "If you prefer."

"You… could come with me?"

Dark circles of faded coal lined her eyes. "I'm sorry, but… no. You should do what is best for you, serah, but I am exhausted," she sighed, continuing to wipe the residue with another swipe of the cloth, "I don't want to trade a night in a proper bedroom for one in a tent with zero privacy. We'll have plenty of that in the next fortnight."

Cullen looked at the bag, unsure whether to continue packing or stay where he was. As he deliberated between the two options, Elsa finished washing her face and dried it with a towel. She remained at the vanity afterwards, her back straight and her hands folded before her, watching him through the full-length mirror standing beside it.

"Before you go," she said softly, "Could you help me out of this? I can't do it by myself."

With the make-up gone, her face was years younger. Her fair features were subdued without the contrasting colours, but gentler and more inviting. She smirked mischievously, irises twinkling in the light of the candles and the hearth. He huffed a laugh and walked towards her, seeing himself appear in the mirror beside her.

They were almost the same height, until she stepped out of her shoes and kicked them to the side. Suddenly nearly a head shorter, her crown lined up with the edge of his chin. Her silver hair flowed down over the armoured bodice, picking up hints of ochre from their surroundings. He watched their reflections as he began to undo the fastenings along her back, noticing the bronze undertones of his skin contrasting with the iciness of hers. Her grey eyes, resting within her flawless face, trailed his own as he worked. He never looked long in a mirror, and had even gone extended periods of time in his life without having one close by at all. Now, he was surprised to notice new lines had appeared around his eyes and in his forehead. They gave a weariness to his looks he didn't think had been there when he was younger.

"We make a pretty picture," she murmured.

"… I was just thinking I look old next to you."

She laughed in a way he had not heard her do all evening. He had resented the cultured voice, the restrained chuckles, the sultry smiles, the knowing looks as she conversed and danced with the other guests. Relief washed over him to watch her open up again, his own chest lightening as he continued to loosen her bodice. The armour had come off her face, just as he was now removing it from her body. They'd made it through the night… dealing with Corypheus almost seemed like it had to be easy in comparison.

"You're just tired," she said, smiling gently as she removed the bracelets and rings from her hands. "You must be aware that every lady in that palace wanted a piece of you tonight… and some of the men."

"Oh, I was aware," he scoffed, "though I can't think why." He unsnapped the final straps securing the armoured top to her shoulders and took it off. It dropped on the floor with a thud, its weight not unlike a medium strength breastplate. "That was heavy."

"No shit," she chuckled, making him smile. "Really? You can't think why?"

He let his hands trail down her spine, following the laces securing the corset around her middle. "… No."

"Cullen," she sighed. "Look at me, please."

He glanced in the mirror. Without the outer layer, she was standing in front of him in a flowing dress of blues and greys, flecked with white. It softened her looks even further, even with her hair still neatly braided.

"None of those people in there tonight are in any way better than you," she said earnestly. "You know that, right?"

He pulled her close by her waist, letting his cheek rest against the side of her head. Her hair smelled of flowers, though he couldn't tell what variety. It wasn't her usual scent, but it was nice. "I'll take your word for it."

"You should," she whispered. "I know what I'm talking about."

She rested her hands on top of his, interlocking their fingers for a moment. Then, very faintly, he felt her pushing against them. He followed her direction, letting them glide across her dress; slowly, carefully watching her responses as he began to explore the curves of her body beneath the fabric. A familiar tension filled the air, intoxicating and instantly recognisable; a heaviness, a dense fog ready to ignite with the electricity rising between them. She trembled slightly under his touch, her gaze locked with his, silently asking, urging him to stay with her. She'd outright told him the first time they slept together that she wanted to be with him. Though she didn't speak the words this time, she shouted them with her eyes, her body curving into his caress, her breath catching in her throat. He wanted to kiss her, but decided against it. He'd grown to love the anticipation over the past month, that tension that sent his skin buzzing and his head swimming. Now, with potential release so close at hand he could taste it, it was all the more intense. No one needed them tonight — there were no reports to handle, no orders to give… they had all the time in the world. He could extend it just a little bit longer, sensing the reward would be all the sweeter if he made her wait for it.

His hands dragged towards her back and he gently kneaded her shoulders where the armour had left red streaks on her skin. He then let them graze upwards unto the nape of her neck, feeling a shudder pull through her spine. "How do I get rid of this?" he asked, tracing the braids with the tips of his fingers.

Elsa shivered, pressing her body into his. "They're fastened underneath," she sighed, letting her head drop backwards onto his shoulder. "You need to take out the pins."

"Then you better stay still."

His teeth nipped at her ear, making her giggle, and he continued to watch her in the mirror. Her eyes were half closed, her face turned towards him. She titled her chin upward to nuzzle his neck, exposing the sensitive skin of her throat. He ran a hand across it, dipping down towards her neckline, then let it slide into her hair.

"Do you know what people in there said about you?" he asked.

The braids loosened as he released the pins, the crown falling away from her head. He slowly raked his fingers through them, unravelling the curly strands until they faded into the rest of her hair.

"I have some idea," she breathed. "What did you hear?"

He stroked her hair forward over her shoulders, letting his hands trace down her sides, then up over her arms. Goosebumps spread across her skin, despite the warmth in the room. He buried himself in her neck, gently sucking on the hollow above her collarbone. All the while he did not take his eyes off her reflection, letting his lips brush against her as he spoke.

"Beautiful."

She chuckled, but quieted as a quiver tugged on her shoulders, responding to his hands descending to the laces of her dress. He unfastened them slowly, tracing each line with the tips of his fingers before he dug them lightly into her back and pulled. Her spine curved a little in response each time, her breath growing deeper with every release of the garment from her ribs. Little by little, the fabric loosened, sliding off her torso.

"Regal."

He pushed the dress down over her hips, until it glided down and pillowed around her feet. Underneath she wore a white chemise, its fabric loosely hugging her frame, and a dark leather holster that carved into her thigh. He reached down, briefly sliding his hand between her legs. Her mouth opened slightly, the tip of her tongue tracing the curve of her lip before she bit down on it. She let out a soft noise of desperation when he continued on instead, releasing the buckle securing the weapon to her leg.

"Breathtaking."

The straps came off her shoulders one by one and he let the garment drift to the floor. She stood before him, all her layers stripped away. Though he had felt her body, he had not seen it fully in the light. Usually, their time together only occurred in the deep of night in Skyhold's dimly lit quarters, where the temperature disallowed a long time above blankets. She had a slim hourglass figure, with soft curves around her hips and waist. Her skin was smooth and milky white, her thighs firm with a slight space between them. There was a gentle arch in the silver veil that reached down to her waist, hiding her chest.

"Divine," he finished, more to himself than to her.

Her grey eyes trailed his hands. One slipped underneath her hair to cup her breast — perfectly shaped to fit in his palm — while his other moved down along her pelvis. "Orlesians always exaggerate…" she sighed, curling into him. "I believe I look quite secular right now, ser knight."

"Indeed… May I?"

"… Please."

A squeal escaped her when he reached down, curving his hand to the shape of her body. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands grabbing onto his arm in a reflex as her body bent forward. He stopped and caught her wrists, directing them behind his neck instead.

"Keep them here," he told her, "and don't close your eyes."

Her chest rose, her eyes locked on his. Her arms were up, the lines of her ribs faintly visible under her stretched skin. Her fingers grasped his hair in anticipation, her nails scratching the nape of his neck. When he let his hand glide back between her legs, her hips bucked against him in an involuntary shudder. He continued to play with her, relishing each sound that escaped from her mouth, every motion of her body writhing against his, and her hands pulling on the back of his head as she fought the buckling of her knees. He watched her struggle to maintain eye contact, her pupils dilating and her lashes fluttering under the effort. Her breath became shorter and laboured, while the moans rising from her chest grew louder with each passing minute. Alternating with her squeals of pleasure was his name, its syllables falling to pieces on her lips. He wondered if anyone could hear her, smiling to himself at the tremors it would send through the Orlesian court if they could.

"How… does it feel," she gasped, her breath burning in hot wisps against his jaw, "knowing that — ah, that you have… are the only one that has… what every man in that room wanted?"

He paused, turning his attention from her reflection to her face. She looked at him through half-closed eyes, her lips flushed and slightly swollen. He wrapped his arm further around her chest, while his other stroked upwards to trace the line of her jaw, leaving a shimmery streak on her skin.

"Do I?" he asked. "Have you?"

"… All of me."

He kissed her with a passion he had not known he possessed. Nothing in his life — not since he'd first developed his wish to join the templars — had moved him in the way that this girl did. He'd always been a person of singular interest, never questioning his dedication to his work, no matter how much people told him there might be more to life. The Order had given him meaning and the work he could do there. Though it had long lost that position, the Inquisition had taken its place. It was his purpose, his world… his possible chance to make things right. Yet it paled in comparison to the all-consuming want for Elsa Trevelyan, who returned his affection with more confidence than she ever had before. All the doubt had gone, her touch feverish and wanting, her kiss deep and unreserved. An overwhelming desire filled his heart and flooded his body; he wanted her, for himself and him alone, to keep her in his arms for all eternity and never let go.

"Thanks," she breathed, breaking away, "for helping me undress." Her fingers curled in his hair, a knowing smirk playing around her lips. "Are you going to camp now?"

"… Aren't you hilarious?"

She laughed as he picked her up and carried her to the four-poster bed with its expensive curtains and scented silks. Her hands ran over his biceps, an appreciative murmur rumbling from deep within her core. He briefly hovered over her as he dropped her from his arms, watching her bounce onto the mattress; her long hair splayed around her, her eyes rapidly searching his, her hands reaching for his shoulders.

"Come here."

He smiled and lowered himself down, falling into her embrace. Her fingers tugged on the buttons of his shirt, pulled it out from his belt, and clawed at the buckle securing his trousers around his waist. He went along with her, nearly ripping off the rest of his formal wear to feel her skin upon his own. He immersed himself in her smell, her taste, and the feeling of her, drowning out the glare of the ridiculous display of wealth around them. He was determined, crumpling the neatly pressed sheets in his fists as he braced himself against the mattress, that by morning the only scent remaining in the perfumed room should be their own.


	34. By Her Hand

Everyone was in high spirits for the following days. Elsa in particular seemed to have emerged from her victory at the Winter Palace with renewed vigour. He enjoyed watching her as she took charge of their travelling party, her energy infectious to those around her.

Unlike the way there, they shared their sleeping accommodations on the way back. He'd gotten so used to having her with him at night before they left, he hadn't fully appreciated just how much of a difference it made until he was without her again. In anticipation of the ball, his nightmares had intensified, his nerves grown restless… Now, the terrors slowly quieted again; nothing so bad that he would wake her with it, and what was left was soothed by her presence as he lay awake.

She would head out before dawn each morning, but not before climbing on top of him for a long, drawn-out moment; kissing him, running her hands over his chest, his arms, his shoulders. He flexed inadvertently when she did, noticing how it never failed to earn him more sounds of approval. To signal her departure she would playfully nip at his skin, let her hands trace down over his stomach, roll her hips against him, or do something else to tease his senses before getting up. He watched her as she put on her leather armour, pulled her hair back in a long braid, and cast him one last look before she left, biting her bottom lip with a small, mischievous grin. He'd sigh, roll onto his stomach, and watch her go… counting the days until they'd be back in Skyhold.

She met with Solas first, away from everyone else, for their practice. Afterwards she'd go hunting with Sera on the days they were camping in between taverns, or plan out their route for the day. During their travels, she met with more people on the road. Though she still controlled her voice on such occasions, her smile was brighter and her expressions more open than they used to be. Wherever she went, the Herald continued to inspire anyone she met, somehow closing deals for supplies with strangers or motivating them to follow in their wake and join the Inquisition. He didn't know how she did it, but she did it exceedingly well.

While he made the entire trip on horseback himself, she and some of the others took turns travelling in one of the two coaches they'd brought along. While riding, she spent time with each of their companions, though continuing to favour the group she'd gone to Crestwood with. At times, Cole would appear behind her, his hat bobbing with the motions of her charger, asking her questions about things they passed by. When she rode in the carriage, he could often hear her laughing with Josephine. He would drive up to them on occasion, at which the pair would lean out the windows to chat. Though he found the Ambassador pleasant enough to work with, save for the occasional disagreement regarding the nobility, he hadn't had much to discuss with her on a personal level before. Getting to know her a little better, facilitated by Elsa's friendship with her, made for a welcome change. On their last day of travel, when Elsa asked Varric whether they'd have a card game again soon, Josephine expressed mock offence for not being invited before, something which the dwarf quickly promised to remedy.

"I find it hard to believe you simply 'forgot' to include me, Varric," the Ambassador teased. "I wonder, perhaps you were afraid of a proper competition?"

"Colour me guilty," the dwarf sighed, his pony's reins unattended as he threw up his hands, "I have underestimated the willingness of you high-class girls in hanging out with us commoners in a dingy tavern."

"Excuse me," Elsa gasped, feigning shock, "are you calling _my_ tavern dingy?"

"It shares your title only, Sterling," he replied with a wink, "None of the allure."

They dismissed his flattery with laughter and a wave of their hands. "We should play doubles," Josephine then suggested to her, "we would be unstoppable."

"We should have played at the Winter Palace then," Elsa replied, nodding her head in the direction they'd come from. "There aren't that many deep pockets in Skyhold."

"Hmm," Josephine murmured, "Managing the treasury gives some advantage with that. I think I know where to start looking."

"Increasing our funds by winning it back from our hard-working soldiers, Ambassador?" Cullen smirked. "You'd have a revolt on your hands before you can spend any of your earnings. Don't assume I'll be the one to stop the masses if that happens."

"Your allowance is higher than theirs, Commander," she said slyly, "We'd have to start with stripping you of your funds."

"And other things," Dorian called out from the front, briefly diverted from his conversation with Bull.

"Careful what you wish for," Elsa retorted, "I'm not sure you can handle what's under there."

The mage let out a hearty laugh, while Josephine playfully pushed against Elsa's shoulder. "Inquisitor! Behave yourself!"

Elsa's cheeks flushed a little, but her eyes sparkled brightly. Perhaps she still surprised herself with this newfound openness, her ability for banter. She looked at him, her expression a little questioning, checking if she'd gone too far. Though a familiar feeling tickled the back of his neck at the laughter surrounding them, he didn't reach for it. Much more overpowering was the thumping of his heart at the knowledge that she continued to openly claim him in such a way. He didn't mind — not in the least. Though their relationship had hardly been a secret until now, neither of them had been so transparent about it in public as they had been these past days. Exposing it to the entirety of Orlais had seemingly changed that.

"She's right," he said seriously, "It is rather stellar. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself."

"Commander!" Josephine cried out, falling into a fit of laughter that was echoed by the others around them.

Cullen felt himself smiling, a warm feeling rising in his core. Never had he imagined he'd be the kind of person who could entertain women like Elsa and Josephine, nor that he'd be among a group of people again that he would call friends rather than colleagues ever since leaving Ferelden. He looked at Elsa in the commotion, her eyes crossing his as she wiped a tear from her face. She quieted, looking at him with such affection he wondered what he'd done to deserve it.

The words left him without thinking; a whisper only, too soft for her or anyone else to hear.

"I love you."

She smiled, her lips forming her reply. Even without sound, it reverberated within him like a gong.

"Love you too."

o - o - o

Skyhold was in good shape when he arrived. Constructions had been in an advanced stage when they left, and were now close to completion. Soon their concerns would go to cosmetic changes rather than functional ones; not of his interest, but something he imagined Elsa and the other advisers would be happy to busy themselves with. A quick glance around the training rings also showed significant improvements. Rylen had taken a team west, with the mission of establishing their presence in the Western Approach as soon as Hawke found out where they needed to be. Barris had taken over most of his responsibilities and appeared to be handling it well. The man was proving himself an effective leader for the templars so far and efficient enough to extend his oversight to the Inquisition's soldiers when required. A stack of well-written reports was waiting on Cullen's desk when he entered his office, which was fairly quickly worked through. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps it was time to make the knight-captain's extended role more official. He noted it on a to-do list to discuss with Elsa later that night, then turned to the second pile of paper on his desk.

He received a copy of most requests that reached the Ambassador's desk, although fortunately she was good at filtering out anything that wouldn't benefit from his attention. His work was in considering the remainder, which had rapidly increased in amount since before the peace talks. Requests for more help in the Dales and the Heartlands, many of which related to continuing red templar activity, as well as the lingering effects of the civil war. It would likely take some time for Celene to organise her troops and clean up the mess she and her cousin had left behind… He contained a sigh, noticing his resistance at deploying his troops for their benefit, then thought the better of it. There were people in those areas that needed help. Furthermore, he was in too good of a mood at the moment to let the Orlesians bother him any further.

At night he settled back into his comfortable routine, meeting Elsa in her chambers after dinner or having it there with her, depending on their schedules. Afterwards she would spend some time continuing her progress on the stack of books that Solas kept adding new suggestions to or finishing up her correspondence. More often than not, however, she would toss aside whatever she'd been trying to read after a while and come over to the desk to sit herself in his lap instead. He didn't mind if he had to get up early the next day to finish his own work. In fact, he'd call anyone a fool who would resist her once she'd set her sights on them. He, at least, had no intention of denying her as she wrapped her arms around him, murmuring affections in between kisses, and urged him out of his clothes. He'd carry her over to the bed soon after, shoving any remaining paperwork to the ground, undress her, and wrap her in his cloak for warmth. The lengthening of the days allowed him to absorb the images of her; her hair flowing like a silver river through crimson grass, her fingers grasping at the sheets as she arched her back away from the mattress, her pelvis shaking under his grip, her perfect face twisted with pleasure. While he'd been through times where his faith was neglected and far away, he now thanked the Maker for each and every moment with her, as they continued to discover ways of enjoying each other even more intimately than before they'd left.

o - o - o

He startled awake one night, heart pounding in his chest, his back sticking to the sheets. It had been a bad one… His hand reached to his side in a reflex, finding the soft curve of her hip. She stirred slightly as his fingers dug themselves into her skin, but didn't wake. He sighed deeply, holding on to her like an anchor keeping him from drifting away. It had been Ferelden's Circle again, though the demons did not often tempt him with the image of Amell anymore. She made an appearance once in a while, as did Hawke occasionally, but for months it had mostly been Elsa. Though each was different from the others, the things they promised him were the same — the things he'd thought he wanted at the time. Yet now that he had what he wanted, which went so much deeper than any of the naive ideas of love he'd had before, their tricks had become all the worse for it.

They held Elsa hostage, set upon by red templars, maleficar, demons, or even Corypheus himself. At times, growths of crystal rose from her shoulders and distorted her arms, colouring her hair scarlet with the lightning pulsing around it. He'd be restrained, banging on the cage now keeping him from getting to her. She looked at him, tears running down her face, pleading, begging him for help. If only he would give in, they would let him save her, hold her, console her, keep her from any more harm. But he knew he couldn't. Instead, he resisted and was forced to watch her die, screaming at him to do something, until he woke.

He rolled over and held her, pressing his face against her shoulder, at which point she turned around to meet him.

"Dream?" she mumbled, eyes still closed.

"Yeah… Don't worry. Just go back to sleep."

"C'mere."

She brought out her arm and he lay himself against her, resting his cheek on her chest where he could hear the gentle beat of her heart. Her fingers slowly combed through his hair, lingering around his temples or at the base of his skull to massage the lingering headache he didn't need to tell her about. He could feel her lips move against his crown as she softly sang a verse from the Chant, soon drowning out her strangled sobs lingering in his memory.

o - o - o

About two weeks after their return, he left the keep before sunrise to take his recruits for training outside the walls. His own muscles ached along with theirs during the long hike up the mountains and the following drill sessions at the higher altitude. He took it as proof that the exercise was worth pursuing. His soldiers performed exceedingly well, finally showing the level of stamina he'd been aiming for. The time had to be approaching where they would meet Corypheus in open battle once again, though he didn't know exactly when or what the opposing force would look like. Tevinter mages, remaining red templars, and whatever else he could amass around him… He didn't like the lack of specifics, but the best he could do was prepare his troops to be as resilient and versatile as possible, hoping that it would be enough for them to adapt to whatever the darkspawn might throw at them once the moment would come.

They arrived back in Skyhold shortly before breakfast, where he went up to his tower to check some aspects of the day's schedule. Soon after, the bells began to ring. He didn't register them much at first, assuming it was to signal the start of the meal, but he looked up when it kept going, straining his ears for further clues. The sound stopped, only to be replaced with muffled shouts from the walls and, finally, the faint rumbling of the gate opening beneath him. He put the schedule aside and left his office to see a black horse skid to a halt from a full gallop in the courtyard. The rider jumped off, swayed a little on her feet, then whipped around. The hood fell off her head as she strode towards the stairs and took the steps two at a time, heading straight for him.

"Hawke? You're —"

"Inside," she said gruffly. "Now."

He stepped aside to let her through, then followed her in. She paced the length of his office for a moment, as if the speed at which she rode into the keep still propelled her forward, then shed her cloak.

"What happened?" he asked, pulling up a chair from the corner. "I haven't heard a thing from you since you left."

She let herself fall into the seat with a heavy sigh and he sat down across from her. Dark circles framed her eyes, her skin was dull from lack of sleep, and she looked thinner than she did before she left. Despite it all, the blue of her irises was no less piercing once she raised her head and looked at him.

"I didn't trust a raven with this," she said darkly. "We found the Wardens — Stroud is monitoring them now. It's bad, Cullen. Really bad."

He swallowed, then took out writing utensils and a piece of paper. Quill at the ready, he waited. Hawke let out another long sigh, her limited energy seemingly draining quickly now that she'd made it back safely, then began to recount her journey. She and Stroud had taken over three weeks to reach the Western Approach, another to scout out the harsh environment. Finally, they'd found a small group of Wardens; the first victims in Corypheus' larger effort in raising an army of demons.

"Once bound, the Warden mages have no free will," she spat. "Their commander is dooming them all to be mindless slaves, until they die for the fucking thing they're supposed to fight against."

"What about the warriors?"

"What do you think? Blood magic, Cullen. Only one purpose for them." Her brow rose in a meaningful look. "Perhaps they can be persuaded to turn against her, if we reach them in time."

"What is our timeline here?" he asked, rapidly scribbling down notes.

"Hard to say. They're holed up in Adamant Fortress now, so we don't know their exact status. No demons pouring out as of yet, I assume, or Stroud would have sent word. What we interrupted was just a test. Successful, not to mention fucking disturbing, but a test nonetheless. They are not ready yet, but the longer we take, the less likely we are to find any Wardens left alive at all."

"At worst we'll end up having to prevent demons from spilling across Orlais…" He got up to pull a map from his files and spread it out on the table. "It will take us time to get there," he continued, measuring out routes with a compass. "It should be faster now that we've established camps along the way, but I'll need to call back the troops that are on other missions first. We'll need all the manpower we can get if we are to lay siege to a keep… or stop an army."

"Did you make any friends at the palace who can join?"

"I didn't," he said with a humourless chuckle, "but Elsa made plenty. We can send word out today."

"Good," Hawke sighed, seemingly relieved. "Let their fancy asses do some of the work for a change."

She went quiet, letting her eyes fall shut, while he continued to consider the situation and the work ahead of him. He drafted quick memos to Josephine and Leliana so that they could begin their own efforts, as well as a request for a meeting later that day, and called in a messenger to deliver them. Hawke provided further snippets of information upon request, while he wrote out a letter to his people in the field and a long list of recipients that would need to receive a copy. The messenger only just returned from his first errand when Cullen shoved the other papers in his hand, sending the man straight on to the next assignment.

His head was whirling with further tasks — getting his hands on the plans for that fortress, arranging siege equipment, adjusting his training schedules, preparing supplies for the journey… He jotted them down to keep them from cluttering his mind, then focused on Hawke still sitting across from him. Not even after the Qunari invasion had she looked as haggard as she did now.

"Did you ride through the night?"

Her head had dropped towards her shoulder. She opened one eye, then the other as she pulled it back up. "Rode as long as I could on most days. Stopped for a bit whenever I had to change horses."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah…" Neither the reply, nor the weary smile on her face was very convincing. She breathed deeply, sinking a little lower in the chair as she rested her head in her hand. A glow pulled across her fingers momentarily, lighting up the dark room with a faint blue sheen. "Shit, Cullen," she said eventually, her voice uncharacteristically heavy, "I'll be alright, but… I am so done with this crap. When will people learn that blood magic is not the answer to their fucking problems?"

"I don't know," he said quietly, "I'm sorry."

She exhaled another long breath, staring at the ceiling. Then, with a quick shake, she straightened herself up and refocused on him. "Enough about me," she said, a little more asserting. "I don't want you worrying your pretty head over my sorry ass. Maker forbid you start to wrinkle."

"That damage has long been done, I'm afraid."

She laughed, the sound brightening the atmosphere instantly. "I'm serious," she said, smiling in earnest now, "How have you been?"

"I'm alright." Her eyebrows remained raised, waiting for more. "What?"

"How's your health?"

He thought a moment. "It's… fine. Quite good, actually. The extract that Elsa makes… it does something. I'm… managing, I suppose. Better than before."

"That's good," she murmured. "And? How was the Winter Palace?"

"What do you think?" he scoffed. "Horrendous, obviously."

"Worse than the usual upper class bullshit?"

"Maker, yes… A whole other level, but I'm not poetically inclined enough to think of a suitable metaphor."

"Ha," she laughed. "Enough to wish we'd traded places?"

"Well… undoubtedly you had a harder time," he conceded. "I don't mean to complain."

"Oh no," she said, holding up her hands in a guarding motion. "I'll take a desert and some blood mages over the Orlesian court anytime. You definitely drew the short straw there."

"Well…" he chuckled, "it ended better than it began. So that's something at least."

"Did it now? You'll have to tell me more about that sometime." She let the words hang in the air for a moment, looking at him with a knowing smile until she failed to stifle a yawn. "Now, however," she said, barely covering her mouth, "I need to crash, or I'm going to pass out in this office."

"You can sleep upstairs, if you want."

"Nah, I imagine there's going to be runners in and out of here the whole day," she said, dragging herself to her feet. "Normally I wouldn't mind, but I need a quiet place today."

"Alright… Thanks for this, Hawke," he said earnestly, tapping a finger on his notes. "Don't worry. I'll get us there in time."

"I don't doubt it." Her eyes fell shut briefly, until she forced them back open. "Drinks tonight?" she asked. "Any time can be the last, you know."

"I know," he chuckled. "I'll be there."

She nodded her approval, then turned away and opened the door. "G'night, Curly."

"Sleep tight, Hawke."

o - o - o

The rest of his day was spent in meetings with Elsa, Barris, and the other advisers. Josephine was quick to suggest allies who might provide them with siege equipment, while Leliana sent out the necessary orders to acquire the building plans he required. How quickly things had turned around… where they had been in complete control preparing for the Empress' ball, now he had suddenly taken the lead. Elsa deferred to his expertise completely, offering whatever she could in her capacity to rouse the Orlesian counties to action. He didn't allow himself to question his own experience, not for the moment, despite the doubt nibbling at the back of his mind; fighting demons he knew well, but storming castles was not necessarily something he'd ever been trained to do.

By sundown, all necessary orders had been given, nearly emptying Leliana's rookery in the process. He stood at his desk, palms resting on the surface, staring at the map before him. Their route was planned, and resources were being stocked or arranged to be provided along the way. Training schedules had been adapted, shifting to endurance training and counter measures against demons. The blacksmith was running at full capacity, creating weapons and improving armour. He'd pulled a selection of texts from his bookcase, detailing previous battles for his reference. He'd read them before, some of them multiple times over, but he'd take anything he could to prepare for the battle at hand. Other than that, however, there was nothing for him to do right now, except wait for their letters to reach the right people and for things to start moving. He sighed in frustration, searching his mind for anything else he might've overlooked, but he couldn't think of it.

Elsa poked her head around the door, then walked over to him when she saw he was alone. "Hey," she said, putting her arms around his shoulders.

He let his head roll to the side, resting it against hers. "Hey."

"I think everyone is already at the tavern."

"Yeah, I figured… I'm not sure I'm in the mood."

"We can go upstairs too," she said, sitting herself down on the edge of the desk, "but I thought you'd want to spend time with Hawke now that she's back."

"Is she up? I haven't seen her all day."

"Yes, I saw her come down with Varric. I think she slept in his room."

"Ah," he chuckled, "Old habits die hard, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

"She used to crash in his room in Kirkwall. She told me once it was to save her the trip home, but I think she just couldn't find her house anymore after drinking too much."

"Oh…" Elsa thought for a moment, but then her interest in Hawke seemed to dwindle. "So, what do you want to do?"

He straightened himself up from the table, running a hand through his hair. It felt strange to go have a carefree evening of drinks and cards with the information from the desert hovering over them. On the other hand, Hawke was the one who'd dealt with that situation firsthand, and she had asked him to come tonight. Who was he to complain?

"Yeah, we'll go," he said eventually. "Let me just change out of my armour."

"I'll meet you there, okay? I told Josephine I'd pick her up."

She pressed a quick kiss on his cheek, smiling brightly at his decision, and bounced from the room. He huffed a laugh to himself as he watched her go, then went up to remove his gear and headed down to the tavern.

Though it took him longer than usual to let go of the day's concerns, he soon found it less impossible than he had expected it to be. A day of rest had restored Hawke's usual flair and her presence was felt immediately. Though they got along well enough without her, her unique ability to be the life of the party eliminated any lingering reservations between the rest of them in the same way that drinks usually did later in the evening. She supplied them with a multitude of stories from her trip, which he noticed Varric taking eager notice of. He hadn't read much of the dwarf's work, but he wondered how much of it, outside of his _Tale of the Champion_, was based on Hawke's experiences. For a writer, he imagined she provided an endless pool of inspiration.

Elsa sat next to him that night, continuing her willingness to openly share their relationship. While some time ago she'd been unsure to even set foot in the tavern, now she was there without hesitation; laughing and chatting, sometimes even with people outside of their direct circle. She didn't get drunk, nor did anything else that could be deemed inappropriate, but neither did she shy away from getting up close to say something in his ear, touch him on his arm or leg, or lean against him when they waited for drinks at the bar. At times he could feel the eyes of his soldiers upon them, but he hadn't noticed a difference in how either of them was regarded thus far. He was relieved at that… the idea of having to stop it was not appealing in the least.

They played several games over the course of the evening, over which he saw his chances of winning increase along with the level of intoxication in the others. Perhaps such a level of confidence was the drink talking as well, but he dismissed the thought without much consideration. The bets grew bolder and the ale continued to flow freely and with some people starting to strike out, victory felt close at hand this evening. Bull had tossed his cards aside a while ago, but enjoyed telling other people how they should have played theirs after the round concluded instead. Josephine sat quite satisfied behind several neat stacks of coppers, teasing Varric into increasing his bet. The dwarf, in turn, absentmindedly counted his own earnings, letting the coins drop one by one into a pile as he pensively assessed the rest of the table. Cassandra sat beside him, swaying a little and not doing enough to hide her cards from those around her, while Hawke clung to her last coins with a tense frown lining her forehead.

"I wish they'd had better music at the ball," Dorian lamented, discarding a card and drawing another. Like Hawke, he had little left to bet with, though he seemed less bothered by it than she was.

"You did not like it?" Josephine asked, eyebrows raised to the sky. "It was so elegant!"

"Stuffy would be another word for that," he quipped. "The only thing that made it interesting was all the backstabbing and undercutting." He feigned a shiver. "The drama!"

"Less entertaining when you're in it," Elsa murmured, considering her hand.

"You did well enough," he said appreciatively. "You effectively destroyed those girls' chances for the following social season."

"Which girls?" Cullen asked, briefly diverting his attention away from the game.

She exchanged a look with the mage. "No one important."

He looked from her to Dorian and back, then got distracted with Varric telling him to make his move. He discarded a dagger, then picked up a card. Unfortunately it did little to improve his hand. When he turned his attention back to her she simply smiled at him, placing a hand on his leg, and he decided he was better off not knowing the details of whatever they were referring to.

"So, Herald," Dorian continued, "did any of your dance partners manage to please you?"

"Not really. I suppose I prefer men a little less… dandy."

"Dorian here not your type then, boss?" Bull said with a rumbling chuckle.

"Not exactly," she smirked, glancing at the Qunari from the corner of her eyes.

"I take offence to that!" the mage said with a teasing smile. "You are basing your judgement on a misconception about what it means to be a true dandy. Most unfortunate, and probably the result of your disadvantaged upbringing in Thedas' bread basket."

"Is that so?" she laughed. "Please then, enlighten me to the ways of the dandy that I, uneducated farm girl, am so sorely lacking."

"I'd be happy to," he said proudly, leaning towards her on the table. "You see, great taste in fashion is only one part. It should always come paired with exceptional wit, dashing physique, and dexterity in all social skills."

"And you embody all of these admirable qualities?"

"I do indeed. Isn't it obvious?"

"Including dancing?" she challenged him. "I do believe I saw you miss a step in the courante at the palace."

"Including dancing, my lady. On your feet, right now, so that I may properly respond to this insult." He got up himself, tossing his cards on the table. "Maestro," he said dramatically to Maryden, "Music, if you please."

The minstrel started up a lively tune, while Dorian held out his hand to Elsa. She took it, smiling broadly, and let him guide her to a clearing on the floor and into starting position. He raised his eyebrows, moustache quirking mischievously, then stepped forward.

Cullen didn't know a thing about dancing, save for the few things she'd told him in her continued efforts to teach him the basics. Even he, however, could see the difference between them and those at the Empress' ball. He'd been surprised at how rehearsed the dances there were, with every pair inexplicably understanding exactly what to do for the entirety of the long sets of movements that had them switch partners, criss-cross the length of the floor, come together in large circles, seamlessly melt back into pairs, and whatever else each of the many songs required. They had drifted around like they were floating on air, their heads remaining perfectly level at all times and their motions ever contained.

Dorian was aiming for something else when he was dancing with Elsa now. He moved with much more vivacity than any person at the palace had, guiding her into rapid sequences of steps, quick twirls, or lifting her briefly by the waist as he spun her around. She had no trouble keeping up with him, laughing while her hair bounced and flipped with the motions. They'd drawn the attention of the room as soon as they'd started and now people began clapping along with the rhythm, with their table abandoning the game momentarily to do the same. Dorian ended the display with a long dip, before he pulled her back up with a flourish. She spun under his arm, then made a brief curtsy to the room, accepting the applause. He guided her back to the table, and kissed her hand with a slight bow as she gracefully sat back down beside Cullen.

"Well, dear lady," Dorian said brightly, "You do know how to dance… for a country girl."

"And you," she replied sweetly, "I congratulate you, sir. You move like a man with far less privilege stuffed up his behind."

"Get your heads back in the game," Varric chuckled. "We're not done here."

They picked up their hands and the game continued, with the round ending so overwhelmingly in the dwarf's favour Cullen doubted he'd let the distraction of their dancing go to waste. He leaned across the table to argue, but couldn't get a word in before Hawke already started doing the same.

"You cheating prick," she called, though her eyes did not reflect the harshness of the words. "I contest your win. Give me back my coins!"

"You know the rules, Hawke," the dwarf smirked, letting what had remained of her money jingle in his hand. "Show me how I cheated, or forever hold your tongue."

"Maker's ass, you looked at the cards while they were spinning around over there."

"Are you saying the Herald is so enticing nobody noticed the dwarf going around checking everyone's hands? Prove it."

"Then you switched them out or something, I don't know. What I _do_ know is that fucking grin on your face and what it means."

"This?" he asked, feigning innocence as he gestured at himself. "What do you mean? I am just being my regular, honest self."

She let out a noise somewhere between a frustrated groan and a feral growl, then briefly disappeared under the table.

"What do you hope to find there?" Varric laughed. "Give it up, Hawke. You're out."

Dorian's eyes lit up. "Unless of course —"

"Shut it," Hawke cut him off, reappearing with her pouch in hand, rummaging through it. "You're not even interested in what I have under my clothes."

"I just need someone to get the ball rolling, Champion," he replied, letting his eyes drift over the group. "To get to the more interesting ones."

"You can get it going yourself," Cullen suggested. "You seem to be out of funds as well."

"Careful with that sass, Commander," Dorian warned him, eyes twinkling. "You don't know the game you're playing well enough."

"Oh, I think he picked up some tricks at the Winter Palace," Elsa countered.

She pressed her side against him, looking up with a playful smile. He breathed deeply, returning it without thinking. Her cheeks were still a little flushed from dancing, her eyes relaxed, and her hair flowed loose over her shoulders. He loved seeing her like this. There was no pretence, no show… for a moment they were just two people who did not need to think about the world at large and were simply enjoying the company of friends. Without much consideration he stroked a lock behind her ear and leaned in.

Iron Bull let out a low whistle, Josephine an adoring coo, and some of the others rhythmically banged their mugs on the table. Cassandra, leaning heavily on Varric, slurred something about romance. The dwarf paternally patted her on the head, smirking in satisfaction. Elsa looked at Cullen in surprise when he pulled back, but then smiled brightly.

"Or you could keep that up," Dorian mused, resting his chin on his hands. "That'll entertain me too."

"Here," Hawke said to Varric, flicking a heavy gold coin onto the table. "This should keep me in the game for a while. Mark my words, dwarf, you're going down."

Varric picked up her pay and weighed it in his hand, fending off the Seeker drunkenly trying to snatch it from him. At the same time, Bull's chair heavily scraped across the ground as the Qunari got up to get them more drinks, while Dorian urged Cullen not to stop the show yet. He himself let his hand glide down Elsa's back and rested it around her waist, not immediately noticing the stiffening of her body in the flurry of activity. It wasn't until she got up from her seat that he looked at her face, concern quickly mounting at the change in her expression.

"Where did you get that?"

Her voice was deadly quiet, casting a sudden hush over the group. Where her face had been bright like the sun moments ago, now it was dark as a storm. Her gaze, sharper than a blade, was fixed on the coin in Varric's hand.

"What?" Hawke looked over to the coin. Everyone at the table stared at it, then at Elsa. "That?" she asked, pointing at it.

She only nodded.

"I found it," she said slowly, one eyebrow rising inquisitively. "A few weeks ago. Got it off a couple of red templars in the Dales, on my way to the desert."

Elsa raised her chin, tearing her eyes away from the object to look at the mage. Cullen slowly rose to his feet, worried she might faint any moment. Her breath grew shallow in her chest and the flush rapidly drained from her face. Her eyes, large and disbelieving, stared at Hawke as if she'd seen a ghost.

"Did you kill them?"

"… Of course."

With the faintest shake of her head, she stepped back from the table, knocking over her chair.

"Elsa —" Cullen reached out to her, but she pushed his hand away.

"Leave me alone. Please."

Without another word she turned on her heel and left the tavern, the door swinging shut behind her. Cullen stood frozen in place, torn between going after her and obeying her words. An uncomfortable silence lingered at the table, until Dorian took the coin from Varric's outstretched palm. He lifted it in the air, examining it in the light.

"Modest in temper," he read, turning the coin in his hands. "Bold in deed."

Josephine gasped softly, a hand fluttering to her neck, while Varric muttered, "That sounds familiar…"

"It should," Dorian said solemnly. "It's the Trevelyan house motto… it also bears their crest." He held out the item for the rest to see. It wasn't a coin, but a pendant without a chain made of solid gold. An image of a rearing draft horse was hammered into its surface, surrounded by the words he'd just read out. "Only a member of the immediate family would carry something like this," he finished.

Cullen swallowed against the sudden shard lodged in his throat.

"It was her brother." He looked at Hawke, whose sharp eyes narrowed. "You killed her brother."


	35. Phoenix

She walked without thinking, her legs carrying her away from the warmth of the tavern and into the darkness of the keep. She didn't feel the ground underneath her feet as it changed from grass to stone, nor heard the echo of her steps in the empty hall. Ears ringing, mind blank, unseeing what was before her through the haze of her tears, she walked, unsure of where she was going or what she would do when she got there.

_A couple of red templars._

Light spilled upon the tile floor, broken by the metal cutting the glass stained windows. She halted in the throne's shadow falling across the dais, where it reached into the dark and enveloped her in its embrace. She turned away, a wave of nausea rising in her throat, and blindly pushed open a door, went down another set of steps and back outside, the blue sheen of the maturing mushrooms but a blur in her vision as she passed them by.

_… Of course._

She went inside, her hand reaching for her chest, and stared at the shadow before her. The moon did not reach this side of the keep, keeping Andraste's features shrouded from view. The only thing visible was the faint outline of her stone hands reaching out, her carved head bowed low to any who would kneel before her. Elsa's heart was silent under her palm as she stood in the entrance; frozen, as if fearful of ticking along to a time where it could no longer deny having heard the words coming out of the mage's mouth.

"Elsa!"

She turned around, shielding her eyes from the late summer sun. He came running over the path winding between the apple trees, his arms held out wide like a soaring bird, his hair nearly white in the afternoon glow. He stopped dead in his tracks, nearly tipping over as his feet stood close together at the edge of the creek trickling through the grass; in his imagination, a treacherous crevice full of danger. With a small hop, both feet together, he made it across the stream, and continued to come towards her.

"Careful!" she said, putting her hands on his shoulders to keep him from throwing his arms around her middle. "You know what Mother says. You could fall and hurt yourself, running like that."

"It's fine!" he said happily, grinning from ear to ear. "I don't fall. Come on, let's go play!"

"I'm serious, Myca… Accidents happen." She bent down to look him in the eye. "Please, we don't want anything bad to happen to you."

His eyes rolled up into his skull with an impressive amount of exasperation for a seven-year-old.

"Promise me," she said, holding up a finger in warning.

"Fine," he sighed. "I promise."

"Thank you. You're being very responsible."

"… You sound like mum."

Elsa looked at his downcast eyes, trying to think of something that would make him look up, would make them able to talk to each other like they'd done when they were smaller. She couldn't, not if she wanted to protect him. She watched as shadows crept across his face, then sharply turned her head, panic setting in as she looked at the sky. The sun was going down, faster than was natural, casting them back into darkness.

"No!" she cried, her hands grasping on to the fabric of his tunic as it began to slip from her fingers. It had no effect. The harder she held, the more he faded before her. Eventually, the sun sank beneath the horizon and he vanished into smoke, leaving behind nothing but suffocating emptiness.

She stepped back onto the landing, the worn gate to the orchard swinging shut before her with the shadowy forms of the trees faintly reappearing behind it. She didn't remember what had happened after that moment… they'd probably walked back to the house, her holding on to the back of his shirt with one hand to keep him close. Perhaps mother had scolded her for being out alone with him, even if she hadn't meant to be, like she had at other times. Perhaps they'd slipped back inside unnoticed. She couldn't recall. She could only recall the disappointed look on his face when she'd turned him down again, fearful of what was certain to happen if she let down her guard.

She turned away from the gate and looked down upon the other exits spiralling out into the depths. He was everywhere. Memories of them at mass, eating breakfast, sitting by the fire, petting the hounds, sneaking into the kitchens… Memories with him alone and with them among family. Memories he wasn't a part of, but where she had thought of him. Memories good and bad, memories laced with melancholy, graced with pride, or tainted with regret. She kept walking, her mana stalking alongside her as a silent witness to her past. The doors creaked open as she passed them by, her will to control them evaporating with each step. This was all that was left of him… all that he would ever be.

She saw him and herself galloping around the parlour, making clicking noises with their tongues as they guided their hobbyhorses in circles around the carpet. Her goal was to make their movements perfectly synchronised, his was to convince her to play joust instead. She corrected the way he held his reins and he pretended the stallion rebelled and threw him off; she stifled her laughter as he rolled across the carpet, until he jumped up holding a fire poker to signal the start of the melee. She looked at the door to see no one was coming, then grabbed another and went into battle.

The hounds were lying around them in the stables as they argued over who'd made the best arrow out of twigs, feathers and pointy rocks. She had the advantage of age, being both more skilled in crafts and having superior arguing capabilities, to his great frustration. She teased him for a while, drawing out his temper, but gave him the win eventually. He carried his trophy around for the rest of the day, showing it off to any of the servants who would listen.

She woke up panicked from a nightmare; emotions volatile, demons stalking her mind, the monster inside her clawing at her skin. Mother brought her to the attic and took her through her exercises. She stayed there, sleeping on the bed prepared for such times, for several days. He came to visit her, sitting outside the room, drawing pictures of the things they would do once she wasn't sick anymore. He passed them to her under the door, while she sat on the other side, crying silently.

They stood in the grand hallway, saying goodbye before he left for training. He wasn't allowed to bring anything with him, but he showed her the pendant before quickly hiding it in his pocket. Their secret. She held back her tears as she watched him go, marched away from the estate by the two knights who came to collect him. Sadness filled her, for now she was truly alone, yet even more overwhelming was relief… he was gone and he would learn to defend himself. She could no longer pose a danger to him.

Time upon time, memory upon memory, she saw his carefree smile being tested. Every time she ignored him, every touch she declined, every scolding she gave… Yet he'd never given up. When he came home from training, he'd embrace her. When they had dinner, he sat beside and talked with her. When it was her birthday, he never failed to write. Perhaps because he was the only one of her brothers too young to remember what happened. Perhaps because he was the only one who'd had the chance to know her, the person she was beyond another mage he needed to control. Perhaps… he was simply different from the rest of them. His aspirations had always been bigger — of travel to far places and wild expeditions; nothing that would ever be allowed within their family. She wondered at times how he'd ever made it through the vigil, through all the prayer, the drills, the watching of candles burning down, the standing guard for hours…

Now, she could never ask him.

Perhaps that was how they had recruited him; with the promise of excitement he'd been craving for so long. A chance to see the world, to be a part of something bigger when the Chantry was collapsing in on itself. He might've jumped at that… like she had defied her family to go search for him after he'd gone.

She halted before the one door, where smoke curled out from underneath. She leaned her head against it, the wood glaring hot on her skin, the smell burning her nose. Eventually, she always ended up here. Its presence ever loomed over her, dwarfing any of the other memories she kept inside her labyrinth. It was what had changed it all — what had made her close up, shield him from herself, stopped her from asking more questions and getting to know more about him. The less he knew of her, the better, as well as the other way around. Tears rolled down her face, dripping off her chin and landing on the stone where they sizzled into steam.

"There you are."

Her mana curled, rising around her in response to the intruder. Elsa opened her eyes, finding herself standing in front of Andraste's statue. The candles were lit, though she had not done so consciously. She turned around, her stomach heavy and her chest strangled into a knot, to face the offender who had followed her here.

Hawke stood in the entryway, leaning against the door frame as casually as if she were waiting for a friend. Her arms were crossed before her chest, her head tilted in that know-it-all, observing way. There was no sign of regret or sorrow on her face, nothing to signal she was in any way responsible for bringing someone's world down around them.

"What do you want?"

"To see how you're doing."

"Do you?" she asked, her voice thin with rage. "How do you think I am doing?"

"… Not great."

"No shit," she said with a shrill laugh she didn't recognise. "Well, good on you — I am not _great_. Now, with your curiosity satisfied, get out!"

Hawke remained where she was, eyebrows raised in expectation of something but not acknowledging her anger in any other way. Elsa stared at her, the slow rushing of blood intensifying in her ears, her lungs contracting sharply.

"What? What do you want? Spit it out, if you're going to say something!"

"What would I say?"

"Wow," she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. "Shit, I don't know, _Hawke_! Do I need to teach you how to be a human being? You could apologise for a start!"

"… Why would I do that?"

"Why _would_ you?" she hissed, her eyes growing wide. "You killed him!"

"I killed a group of red templars. Have you apologised to the families of the ones you've killed?"

"I —" She froze, swallowing down her reply.

The mage's brow quirked and she pushed herself away from the door, taking a step into the chapel. "You know what I do, right?" she continued. "I kill. I'm a staff for hire. Sure, I try to make sure it's for a rightful cause, but it always ends with me killing a whole bunch of people in the process." She took another step, hips swaying lightly, her hands moving with a casual grace to accompany the nonchalance in her voice. "Do you think I apologised for those people? The bandits, the cultists, the maleficar? Disagreeing with their actions did not stop them from being someone's brother. Someone's daughter. Someone's partner. If I made a list of all the people I'd have to apologise to, I'd never stop."

"He was just a boy," Elsa screamed, the burning in her chest rising at the mage's indifference. "He wasn't some lowlife, he was my family! He was good!"

"He took red lyrium and went mad," she countered, each word a dagger. "What you remember was long gone by the time I came across him."

"You don't know that! Maybe we could have helped, maybe there's a cure —"

"Like there's a cure for regular lyrium? You should give some to Cullen."

"Don't speak like you know anything about that! You just —" Her breath climbed into her throat, sending her head spinning. Inside, her mana raged; growling and hissing, spitting sparks that lingered in the void, waiting to explode. "You just come in whenever it suits you, do whatever you want, tell everyone else how things should be done and bail if it gets too much. Do you even know the things we deal with every single day? You don't deal with the consequences of anything, let alone your own actions!"

Hawke raised her chin, eyes narrowing, and stood motionless for a long second. "Very well," she said eventually, a dark edge to her voice. "Bring it then."

"What?!"

"Bring it," she repeated, taking another step forward. "Bring on the consequences."

"I don't —"

"I killed your brother," she said, her irises turning a shade darker. "If anyone took mine away from me, I'd kill them in an instant."

Ice spread through her veins, crystals flowering across the labyrinth's ground and winding up the stairs. Her mana quieted in the frost, growling anxiously at the doors trembling around it. She couldn't feel her limbs, her hands and feet both seemingly miles away from her body. All she felt was the rushing resonating in her eardrums, coursing like a river threatening to break through a crumbling dam.

"You want me to kill you?"

"Not really… but I'll let you try."

The mage's form swam within her tear stained vision. She wanted to retaliate, punish her for what she'd done, wipe the smugness off her face and make her feel all the pain that she felt right now. Her back burned hot with the flames lapping at the door, the fire only barely contained in the memory beyond. Her magic swirled around her, ready to pounce. But —

Lightning jumped into Hawke's hand, striking down from above and gathering in her palm before she slung it across the chapel with a flick of her wrist. Elsa ducked away and stared at the black burn on the wall.

"What are you doing?!"

"Making it easier for you," Hawke murmured, her next attack coalescing around her hand.

Elsa jumped back to avoid a volley striking the ground at her feet. Tendrils forked out and hit two of the candelabras, smashing them to the floor where the candles spilled out, their flames flickering faintly as they rolled across the tiles. The next she dodged only barely, it missing her head by an inch and singeing a strand of her hair.

"Stop it!"

"Make me."

Still her face showed no emotion. Her gestures were effortless, her spells barely even taxing her body. Her mana stirred the air, twisting the Veil. Spirits whispered on the other side, their voices probing Elsa's mind as they were drawn towards the chapel. She tried to shut them out, smashing down the swirling in her stomach, stilling the waves in her chest…

The next bolt came straight for her. Her hand shot out in a reflex, a wall of ice materialising from the ground to follow the arc of her movement through the air. It shattered instantly as the strike connected, shards bursting out in all directions. Elsa stared at the mage standing across from her; her posture tall, hip cocked out to the side, hands aglow. Her head was bowed with her sharp eyes fixed upon her own. A quiver in her cheek pulled on the corner of her mouth.

Then… she smiled.

With a resounding roar, her mana rose, flooding the empty spaces of her mind. Door after door burst open with deafening blasts, memories spilling out into the void. Whatever restraint had been left behind — crystals of ice cementing the entryways shut, padlocks and chains crawling across them like poison oak — melted away as the fire spread over the steps, along the walls, and up the ceilings.

Elsa felt her insides burn, her veins glow, her hair adrift in the air surrounding her. All her attention was focused on the woman before her and every smirk, every huff, every comment and every critique she'd had the gall to level her way ever since she had first shown her face. Even now, she did not use her full strength, only raising one hand in her defence as a barrier flashed to life around her. Still, she did not consider her worthy of her complete attention, dismissed her like she had dismissed her brother, like any other thug she'd ever encountered.

The final door shook behind her, the screams of young children ringing from within. Her magic howled, begging for release. With a last breath she steadied herself, and turned the handle.

"Do it again, do it again!"

"Careful, Maia," she said. "Don't pull on me."

"Make the pretty thing again, Elsa!"

"Shush, both of you. Mummy will hear you."

She glanced at the door to the twins' bedroom, but there were no footsteps approaching. "Okay, here goes," she said brightly, rubbing her hands together. "Pay attention."

With a flutter of her fingers, the shapes formed above her palms. Wings woven out of flame, delicate and beautiful, unfurled from a fiery cocoon. Another appeared beside it, a small ball of fire hovering in the air that slowly shaped itself into a scarlet butterfly. They took flight, following the motions of her hands as she directed them at will.

"Don't touch them," she warned, "only look."

"They're so pretty…" Maia sighed, her smoky eyes brightly reflecting the flickering flames.

Myca lost interest in the shapes more quickly than his sister and turned towards her instead. "I want to be able to do it too! Can you teach me?"

"I… can try," Elsa said uncertainly. "I'm not sure how I do it myself."

"Try, try!" he called, grinning widely. "Please!"

"Okay, okay," she laughed. "Calm down."

A shriek made them both jump. Maia had gotten up, reaching for the butterfly, following it further into the room. Elsa froze as she watched her stumble back and fall, petrified, staring at the flaming curtains against which her creation was still flapping helplessly. Panic rose in her chest, twisting the air, and fanning the flames. Sharp lashes sputtered outwards in menacing spirals, showering the room in sparks.

"Maia!" Elsa stretched her hand towards her, the motion sending a surge through the fire. Startled, she grabbed her wrist and hugged it to her chest, staring at her sister's shuddering frame in front of the roaring blaze. "Get away from there!"

The girl sat frozen, her tiny body unresponsive to whatever her young mind might have been telling her to do. Smaller fires ignited on the edges of the carpet, inside the toy chest, and from the books Elsa had read to them that morning. Smoke filled the room, a thick blanket that curled in the air as she coughed, burning her eyes and lungs.

_Please stop. Please, please, stop. Please. Please, I didn't mean for this. Make it stop. Please._

"Elsa," Myca choked, "I'm scared."

She stared through the stinging tears, her heart pounding in her chest, her fear only barely making place for his small hands clutching her sleeve. She grabbed him on instinct, pulling him with her towards the door. "Go," she told him. "Get out! Now!" She wrung it open and shoved him out, then turned back towards the room.

Maia was no longer visible, her shape drowned within the smoke. Elsa stepped forward, covering her nose with her arm, when a booming voice rang from down the hall. The dispelling strike hit her, freezing her blood and dulling her mind. The last thing she saw were the thundering flames before her and the rocking horse smouldering in the corner, until she hit her head on the ground and lost consciousness.

She sat in the dark on shaking legs, bracing herself against the stone. Her breath was raspy, creaking in her chest with every inhale. Tears ran down her face, forming clear spots in the black soot covering the tile floor. Her energy had drained, leaving her head empty and her core still. All that was left was the shell of her body, shivering in the strange clarity her fear and anger had left behind.

Some distance away, Hawke sat bent on one knee, her body heaving with the effort of maintaining her shield. She took a long moment to steady herself, then got to her feet. The hollowness of her steps reverberated inside the scorched chapel, mingling with the dripping sounds of candlewax melting to the floor. She sank down before her with a heavy sigh, placing an ash covered hand on Elsa's shoulder.

"… He's really gone," Elsa whispered.

"Yes," Hawke answered, her voice soft. "I'm sorry."

She breathed, deeper than she ever recalled having been able to in the past.

"Did… did he suffer?"

"No. I made it quick."

She raised her head. The blue eyes looked straight at her, clear as the sky, and no longer empty of emotion. Hawke reached up to stroke back Elsa's hair, then let her hand rest on the side of her face.

"Let me know when you're ready," she said quietly. "So the real work can begin."

Elsa sighed, giving herself time to feel the sharp pain in her chest. It would not be gone any time soon, if it would ever be gone at all. But, for the first time… she felt she could endure it in its entirety. She took another breath, and nodded. Hawke acknowledged her with a blink of her sharp eyes, a hint of pride shining within them, then moved to her side. Elsa rested her head upon the other mage's shoulder and they sat together in silence, their mana slowly regenerating with Andraste's burnt silhouette watching over them from the dark.


	36. Long Night

It was deep into the night by the time Elsa locked the door to the chapel and parted ways with Hawke. Despite the late hour, some light still shone from under the door by the time she reached the top of the tower. Her room was quiet when she entered, save for the sounds she'd gotten so used to in recent times. The low crackle of the fire, the rustling of papers in the breeze coming through the open doors… Cullen's calm breath in that sweet space of time between when he drifted off and the start of his nightmares.

She paused at the top of the stairs. He was lying on his side facing her direction, one arm curled under his head, his other stretched out to where she would usually be. He hadn't changed out of his clothes, seemingly having only lied down for a bit while he waited for her to return. It wasn't hard to imagine him pacing back and forth, wondering if he should go look for her, until he'd tired himself out after his long day. She sat down beside him and let her fingers run through his hair. It was as soft as ever, though a little firmer after a day with training than it would have been had he just washed it. Her heart quickened a beat when she bent down and kissed his head. His scent — a hint of smoke from the tavern, a slight saltiness, and the heavy fragrance she couldn't place anywhere but with him — made her head swim, filling her with warmth.

_… I am going to miss you so much._

She lingered there, breathing in deeply, until he stirred and she pulled back. He turned his head, blinked, then opened his eyes wide as he saw her.

"Maker's breath… what happened?"

"What?"

"You —" He pushed himself up, looking her over. "You… forgive me, but you're a mess."

She looked down at her hands and dress, which left a dusty stain on the sheets as she got to her feet. "Oh… shoot. I didn't notice."

Cullen stared at her. "You didn't notice? Go look in the mirror."

Elsa moved over to the vanity and looked at her reflection. Her hair was a messy tangle of frizzy waves, singed on the edges in more places than one. Her face, neck, and arms were smeared with dirt. Her dress, once a pale blue, was hardly recognisable — the fabric stained black, its edges frayed and scorched.

"Are you… okay?" Cullen asked as he sat himself on the edge of the bed. "I wasn't sure if I should stay or… do you want to be alone?"

"No…" She reached for him, then looked at her hand and retracted it. "I should bathe. No, I'm glad you're here. And yeah… I'm okay. I'm sorry I worried you."

"Don't think of it," he said, frowning. "I… drew you a bath before." He pointed at the connecting room. "It's probably cold by now… I can reheat it, if you want."

"I can manage," she said, her attention drawn to the trail she'd left behind on the ground. "I should get out of this, I'm leaving tracks all over the place."

She began to undo the laces of her bodice, shrugging her way out of the sleeves and pushing the garment down over her hips. It drifted to the floor, expelling a puff of dust into the air. She coughed, waving away the particles. Her chemise was untouched, but a sharp border of built-up soot marked her skin along the edges where her dress had been. She brought her hair forward over her shoulder, assessing the damage. The longest ends were thin now that parts had burned away, with several larger chunks only just reaching to her chest.

"Maker," she chuckled, "Good thing no one saw me, right?"

He didn't laugh, nor say anything in return. She looked at him, finding him observing her with concern and apprehension. When she tilted her head, waiting for him to speak, he took a deep breath, his eyes flitting over her body as he sized her up.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah…" he said slowly. "I'm sorry, but… what happened exactly?"

She sighed. This would've been easier if she'd thought to wash and change before waking him up. Tonight's events had made her forget about her appearance… she wasn't sure anything had ever managed that before. It was a little disturbing, but also… strangely liberating.

"I… don't really know what to say," she said honestly. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, I'm just not sure how."

"Well, I would ask that you please try," he replied, apparently with some effort to maintain calm. "Because… while I understand you've had a shock tonight, I am not sure how it translates to you looking like you burned down half the keep."

"Hardly half the keep," she murmured, "Just… the chapel."

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs, straining himself as if trying to hear a faint sound in the distance. "I'm sorry? You burned down the chapel?"

"Well, not 'down', exactly. It's still there, stone doesn't burn that easily. It's just… a bit of a mess."

He got to his feet, stood still a moment with his mouth slightly open, then turned to look out over the balcony. He refocused on her a short time later, looking thoroughly confused. "Wh— How? Did you lose control, like after Haven?" A sudden realisation then seemed to dawn on him and he closed the distance between them, taking her hands. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"No," she said quickly. "I'm fine and I… don't think so?"

"You don't think so?" he repeated incredulously.

"No, I didn't lose control. It's… hard to explain."

Cullen stared at her in a way he hadn't ever done before. Suddenly she wasn't sure whether he was concerned for her… or something else. His chest rose and fell in long takes, then he looked down.

"Please," he said quietly, holding her hands a little more firmly. "Just… take me through what happened."

She hesitated. Telling him what had happened was only the beginning of what they needed to talk about. She was exhausted and sad, yet… calm about it all. A large part of her wanted to simply skip the conversation, cuddle up with him and fall asleep, eat breakfast in bed come morning and not talk about anything of consequence. She'd talked extensively with Hawke once they'd both caught their breath and had no desire to discuss any further, but she couldn't keep him in the dark. There was no way he'd sleep without some explanation. All she could do was get through it and hope he would understand.

"Will you… take a bath with me?" she asked, pulling him a little towards her. "I promise, I'll tell you, but… let's just relax, alright? It's been a long day."

His eyes flicked towards hers, then scanned the swipes on her face. "Alright."

She pulled him over to the other room, perhaps her favourite part of her chambers. In Haven there hadn't been anything like it, let alone out on the road. She'd missed bathing immensely, perhaps most of all things she missed from home. The copper tub was full, shimmering in the dark. Since it had been installed, there was hardly a day she hadn't used it. She put one hand on the rim, her mana responding easily and without restraint. Cullen's hand briefly tensed in hers when it began to flow, but relaxed as steam started to rise from the water.

"When did you learn that?"

"I'm… not sure," she said, letting go of the tub and turning towards him. "I just figured I knew how to do it. I suppose it's just an extension of what I've been doing with Solas."

Cullen still seemed unsure, but didn't stop her as she loosened his shirt and unbuckled his belt. She kept her eyes on his when he reached up, hesitating briefly before he pushed back a shaggy strand of hair hanging down the side of her face and traced his fingers down her neck to the strap of her underwear. It made her skin tingle, sending chills down her spine. Of all the ways he touched her — from his gentle caresses, to his fingers digging into her as passion overtook his sensitivity, and everything in between — it was one of her favourites. He relaxed when she shivered, the concern finally starting to fade from his eyes.

He removed his own clothes before he did the rest of hers. It allowed her a long look at his body, faintly outlined by the glow of the fire coming in from the main room. She'd gotten to know him so well over the past weeks; watching him, touching him, holding him, feeling him all around and inside of her… She hadn't found a single flaw, not the slightest imperfection, nothing to lessen the effect he continued to have on her. He kept surprising her too, awakening things she hadn't known were hers; an audacity, a playfulness… a fire in her heart. She'd missed having him against her on the journey to Orlais, and in fact couldn't quite understand her own reasoning now for having willingly deprived herself of his company. Yet now that they were together again and had become even closer… she was about to give it up once more.

He ran a finger along her jaw, lifting her chin and pulling her from her thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah…"

He took her hand and stepped into the bath, then guided her to sit between his legs. She let herself sink into his arms, the tiredness of the day washing over her with the warmth of the water. He began to wash her, gently wiping away the soot with a soft cloth, while she lay nestled against his chest, nuzzling his neck. Eventually he pulled back a little, raising her up so he could clean her face, his eyes trailing his hand as he wiped away the residue her spell had left behind.

"That's better," he said quietly.

"… Thank you."

He put the cloth to the side and began to dampen her hair, holding her close while stroking small handfuls of water into it. "I'm sorry," he sighed, "Your brother, I… can't even imagine how you feel."

"It's okay," she whispered, "It hurts, but… I've been expecting this since Therinfal. At least… now I know for sure."

"I know," he conceded, "but I wish we could have done more."

"We couldn't. He… was lost before we ever met. I don't know if I'll ever find out what happened, but the moment they convinced him to take the lyrium… it could have been any time after he left home."

His brow pulled down a notch. "You're… very calm about it."

She took a few long breaths, listening to the trickle of the water as he continued to lift his hand from the surface to her hair, then feeling his fingers untangle the wet strands. Perhaps it was best to just be factual about the thing, without trying to explain too much. She wondered which details might worry him the most and she might better omit. Then again, she was too tired to really feel like being strategic about it. So, with another breath, she looked him in the eye, and began to recount what had happened since she left the tavern.

"She _attacked_ you?"

He'd been quite alright up until that point, a little affronted perhaps, but not really surprised at all by Hawke's particular way of 'consoling' her. Now, however, he seemed about ready to jump out of the tub, hunt down the Champion, and toss her in a prison cell.

"It's alright," she said quickly, putting both hands on his chest to keep him in place. "I attacked her back."

This did not seem to calm him in the way she'd hoped. He made no other attempts to get up, but stared at her wide-eyed, evidently searching for words and no longer stroking her hair. "You… attacked her back."

"Well, she wanted me to."

"That makes it okay, I suppose?"

"She's alright. We're both alright. Just the chapel… well, like I said… a bit of a mess."

He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment. "Alright," he said when he opened them, "so… you — you can cast fire now. Is that it?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's a bit… uncontrolled still. I'll need to work on directing it more. Although, I'm not sure I like the idea of using it on others, besides well… maybe undead, like in Crestwood. I think I'd rather try different types of magic."

"Like… what?"

"I'm not sure. All elemental stuff feels quite destructive. Dorian's style is a bit more subtle, less… burning things alive. Or maybe healing, that would be useful."

His leaned his arm on the side of the bath, pressing two fingers into his temple. "You… want to be a necromancer or a healer," he stated with some exasperation. "Those are quite different."

"I know… I mean, I don't have to choose necessarily, do I? All the mages here can heal and use barriers to some extent, in addition to their own specialities."

"Sure," he replied uncertainly, "but… you were wondering if you can even learn the basics. Now you want to learn multiple disciplines?"

"Well, probably still focus on the basics to begin with," she explained, "But… I can't help but wonder if my parents just told me I have no talent to make things easier. I don't think I'm like Hawke or anything, but we talked about it and… it just seems like there's more there than I thought."

His gaze shifted all over her, as if he could assess her talent by looking at her long enough. "Alright," he said eventually, "so you'll be changing your training with Solas from now on?"

There was a hint of apprehension in the question. His forehead was lined with a tense frown, his eyes burned into hers. She could feel him hoping that she'd simply say 'yes' and that would be the end of it.

"No." His chest sank under her hands with his exhale. "Hawke said she would teach me."

"You seem quite enamoured with her suddenly."

"Well… about time I join the club, right?" she shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood with a smile, "I was feeling left out."

He didn't smile back. Instead he shook his head a little, letting out another deep sigh as he looked off to the side. "Just… tell me the rest."

She swallowed, then lowered herself back down to his chest, wrapping her arms around his middle. He remained how he was for a moment, then returned the gesture, firmly holding her against him with his arms securely around her.

"I'll be leaving Skyhold," she said quietly. "Ahead of the army. We'll be going west to clean up the rifts and then… we'll see what I can do."

His arms tensed a little, then relented. He seemed about to speak a number of times, but reconsidered. She could imagine which questions didn't make the cut. _Why now all of a sudden? Why not travel with the army? What if you get hurt? Why not keep working with Solas?_ Perhaps he was answering them himself. They'd both known she had to go out there again eventually, though they'd refrained from discussing it so far. He also knew that the army wouldn't be able to follow the same route that she'd be taking to clear the rifts. She could train with Solas, but he knew Hawke and trusted her without question. If anyone were to teach her how to survive, the Champion's track record spoke for itself.

In the end, he simply seemed to give up and cupped her face in his hand, lifting it to look her in the eye.

"When?"

"I don't know yet… but probably soon. If I am to be of any use in taking Adamant, I need all the time I can get."

"You would be useful…"

"Not in the same way." She took his face in both her hands, letting her thumbs brush across his scruff. "I couldn't save Myca… I accept that. But I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you, or anyone else, and I might've been able to prevent it. I have to try."

He took hold of her wrist, his other hand pulling her close by the nape of her neck so he could press his forehead against hers. "I am going to miss you so much," he whispered, "You have no idea."

"Me too, love."

Finally, he smiled. It was faint, laced with grief, but it was all she'd dared to hope for. He kissed her, a longing in his touch to keep her there with him forever. It had grown even stronger since their night in the Winter Palace, overwhelming her at times with its intensity. Now, it melted away her resolve for what she knew needed to be done. As soon as he stopped, she felt the urge to take back everything she'd said before and never leave his side, only barely containing herself by biting her lip.

"You haven't called me that before."

She stroked the side of his face, allowing herself to soak up every detail of him to keep in her memory. They'd have a few more days while she finished up her affairs. She made the silent promise to spend every possible minute with him. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting… I'm still getting used to this."

"Same," he murmured. "You are… I have never felt anything like this."

"Me neither. I want to stay with you, but… I know I'll regret it if I don't do this now."

"I know…" He reached up with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. "How about I wash this mane for you before the water gets cold again?"

"Thanks," Elsa laughed, "Can you help me cut it after?"

"Really?" he asked uncertainly, twisting his finger in the ends drifting on the water. "I like it long."

"I messed it up too much… and you know how long it takes to dry," she joked. "It was horrible going to Crestwood. Not to mention I think it may actually be a safety hazard at this point."

"Well, we don't want that," he said, a note of resolve reasserting itself. "Turn around, my lady. Let's get you cleaned up."

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

Elsa had fallen asleep some time ago, but Cullen couldn't follow her example. He watched her face, her skin a pale blueish white in the light of the moon. Part of her hair lay across her shoulder, its ends only barely reaching the mattress. What they'd taken off was in a pile next to the vanity, save for a lock he'd kept apart. He didn't know what he'd do with it yet… but he wanted to keep it nonetheless. Josephine or Vivienne would have to even out the new cut in the morning, but he'd helped her with most of the work, trimming the parts in the back she couldn't reach herself. He'd expected her to have a harder time with it, but she'd been very pragmatic. In fact, he had probably found it more difficult than she had.

She stirred slightly, turning onto her back. The blanket pulled down in the motion and exposed her upper body, which was no longer protected by the veil of hair. He quickly reached over to cover her back up. Though the room wasn't as cold as it had been now that summer had begun, nights in the mountains would never lend themselves to sleeping completely uncovered. She might catch a cold if he left her exposed… He hesitated, holding the blanket still above her, then pulled it up to her chin. As much as he wanted her to stay, making her sick was not worth it.

He got up after some time and pulled on his clothes, deciding to walk off the nerves racing in his chest. The stairs creaked under his feet as he descended from the tower, perhaps the castle's way of telling him to get back to bed. Instead of listening, he turned into the main hall and exited the keep, taking a steadying breath as he stood at the top of the stairs. The grounds were deserted, the tavern dark. It felt like an eternity since they'd sat there and, for a brief moment, everything had been perfect. Now, she would leave and he would continue preparations for possibly the largest battle he'd ever faced alone. Doubts sprung to life more vivaciously than they had before; for her safety, for his nights to come, for their success once they would reach the desert… and for what he might find when he would see her next.

He had wanted to argue. To tell her this was silly. That it was her grief talking. That he needed her with him. That she was perfect the way she was. But he hadn't. He knew there was sense to her decision and that she hadn't taken it lightly. He also knew that there was little for her to do here in preparation for the siege, save for keeping him company and quieting his demons. Much as he might want to, he could not be so selfish to keep her here for that reason alone. Unfortunately it did nothing to ease his mind right now, nor to still the resentment rising in his chest at the prospect of being without her.

A familiar figure sat atop the wall, her silhouette forever burned into his memory from all the times she'd come towards him in the blinding sun beating down on the Gallows' courtyard, that he'd seen it rise up from clouds of dust in Kirkwall's streets, or met with her on moonlit nights. His legs carried him down the steps and through the training grounds without thinking, eventually leading him back up to the wall where she turned her head at his approach.

"Hey, Curly. Can't sleep?"

If she'd been in a similar state as Elsa after their encounter, she'd made sure to wash off the evidence. Her dark hair was shining in the light of the stars, her skin clear. Tan lines from her armour were faintly visible on her arms and around her neck, more apparent now that she was wearing a loose-fitting shirt that hung slightly off her shoulder.

"No. You?"

"I slept the whole day," she smirked. "Whatever rhythm I might've had is thoroughly fucked again."

He sat down opposite her, pulling one leg up on the wall and resting his back against the battlements. She observed him for a moment as he looked out over the mountains, then did the same.

"Did she talk to you?"

"Yes," he sighed. "You got your wish."

"My wish?"

"You've been wanting to see her use magic," he said, unable to restrain the sudden venom in his voice. "Now she will."

She quirked an eyebrow. "I've suffered some accusations tonight already," she said nonchalantly, "You're not going to bait me into a fight."

"Are you saying you haven't been planning this?"

"Happening upon the brother I didn't know she had so I could kill him?" she said bluntly, "What a plan. Truly, I'm a genius."

"Not that part. You've been working since you got here to make her embrace being a mage."

"As she should. Do you realise the difference she can make?"

"For mages? Since when do you care?"

"I've always cared, Cullen," she replied, surprise now lining her forehead in earnest. "Not going so far to blow up the Chantry, but in anything else I've done… it was always to support mages' rights, if I could."

He bit back another reply and went silent for a while. His gaze was drawn to the tower, within which she hopefully hadn't woken to find him gone.

"She needs to be that too?" he said scornfully. "Doesn't she have enough on her plate yet?"

Hawke drew a long breath, tilting her head. "Not if she doesn't want to. But she does need to become stronger."

"She is already," he argued. "You don't see how she leads. She was great at the Winter Palace; strong, strategic. She didn't hesitate when there was a rift, had everyone there in the palm of —"

"Is she going to smile Corypheus into submission?" the mage quipped, "Take him for a turn around the dance floor?"

"It was more than that."

"Cullen," she sighed, "You know what needs to happen. He came for her once… maybe he's given up for the moment, but she still has what he wants. Sooner or later, he will try again. He won't come for me or you… it will be for her. She needs to be ready."

"You mean you want her to become like you," he snapped.

Hawke raised her chin, observing him through narrowed eyes. "Not exactly," she mused, "but lo and behold, I'm still alive. I'm not sure she would be, not without a whole lot of people protecting her, ourselves included."

He sighed in frustration, resting his head in his hand. "I know… I'm sorry. I don't mean to get cross with you."

Her eyes flickered in the shine of the moon. "I thought you weren't bothered by her being a mage," she said quietly, "Or was that only when she was in denial of it?"

"I… I'm not. I don't mind… mages."

"I wouldn't blame you if you still do, Cullen… Do I bother you?"

"No," he said quickly, "You don't. None of the mages here do."

"Then why does she? Because she's still learning?"

"No, I… I don't know. At first, yes, but not lately." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get a hold over his thoughts. A sense of dread settled in his gut the more he thought of her leaving, and of what might happen to both of them while she was away. "I can't explain it."

He got up from the wall and began to pace, unable to channel his unrest into anything else. How he'd kept it under control while he was still with her, he didn't know now, but he had to find a way to calm it before he headed back. He felt like a small child, panicking at the thought of being without its security blanket. It was pathetic… and he hated himself for it.

"Cullen."

Her voice pulled him back from his frenzy. He looked at her, finding her expression uncharacteristically soft. "What?"

"Could it be it's not so much the magic," she suggested, "but rather that you're afraid of her changing?"

"No," he scoffed, "… No. I mean, people change. It's fine."

"She's young," Hawke pressed on. "Do you worry she'll discover things about herself… and no longer feel the same way about you?"

He stared at her. _No._ His mind screamed the word, but his mouth wouldn't repeat it. He hadn't considered that explanation at all, but hearing it coming from her… it sounded weirdly plausible.

"She wouldn't," he told himself, returning to the wall. Hawke pulled her legs back to make space for him and he rested his hands on the stone, exhaling deeply. "We love each other."

"I'm sure you do," she said gently, "but you have to let her grow, Cullen. Think of yourself at her age… You wouldn't want to have gotten stuck there."

"I'm not that much older," Cullen retorted, "And she's not like how I was. I was a mess. Ferelden's Circle —"

"Cullen, come on. She's what, twenty-three, twenty-four?"

"… Twenty-three," he admitted.

"Plus, she's lived under her family's thumb her entire life. Then after she left," Hawke continued, starting to count on her fingers, "she fell from the Fade, got caught in a war, nearly got possessed, was targeted by a darkspawn and his dragon, almost saw a friend killed by undead… All within the span of half a year." She paused for effect. "If she's not a mess, she's dead inside."

"She's not… dead inside."

"I know," she said softly, fixing him with her eyes, "I agree that she's remarkably sane considering what's happened to her, but she has told me she doesn't know who she is. She seems really happy with you, Cullen, anyone can see that… but if you love her, or even if you just want her to survive, you'll let her figure that out."

"Which she can't do here, with me?"

"With the Order and everyone else looking over her shoulder?" Hawke answered, finishing the thought for him. "No. She needs to be away from scrutiny… somewhere where it is okay for her to fail."

He let out a long breath, steadying himself against Skyhold's wall. Part of him regretted coming up here… he should have known Hawke wouldn't hold back once he incited the conversation. But as much as he didn't want to hear some of the things she was saying, he couldn't argue against them in good conscience.

"So you want me to just let her go, while you take her on this magical journey of self-discovery," he muttered, "and trust you that it won't mess her up even more."

"Not really," she replied, unimpressed with his sarcasm, "It'll be a shitty camping trip of hunting down whatever lives in the dregs of Orlais. It's neither here nor there whether you trust me, though you know very well that you can. However, I'd rather think she'd want you to trust her."

The aching in his chest, fighting for recognition, slowly won over his resentment the longer he looked at her. "I know," he sighed, "I do. It's just…"

He didn't find the words to express the overwhelming nature of his feelings when they were together. Even if he could, Hawke would not consider it an argument for her staying here and he knew, deep in his heart, he didn't want to convince either her or Elsa that she should. He simply had to accept it and focus on the work at hand. Right now, however, it was hard to see how to do that.

"Go to her," Hawke said, nudging him with her foot, "It'll be over before you know it, you'll see. In the meantime, you should spend the time that you have together with her. Don't waste it hanging out here with me."

He took another deep breath, looking out over the horizon. The first light of the day began to creep over the mountain ridge. He watched the rays reach over the snow, making it sparkle brightly under the fading moon in the deep purple sky.

"Spending time with you is never a waste," he told her.

"Thanks, Curly," she chuckled, "Now get out of here. You're cutting into my precious alone time."

He huffed a laugh and they said goodnight, though he could feel the warmth of the sun already reaching his neck by the time he reentered the keep. He made a detour past Josephine's office to write her a note, letting her know Elsa was alright and asking her to reschedule both their morning meetings, then went back up to the tower.

Elsa was standing by the balcony doors when he came in, wrapped in a blanket. Her hair, looking much thicker than it had when it was longer, bounced on her shoulders as she turned around. "Is everything okay?" she asked, "I saw you out on the wall."

His answer never came. Instead, he crossed the room in a few long strides and wrapped her in his arms. Her hands were on his chest at first, a little unsure, then she put them around his neck, holding him tightly with her fingers curling in his hair. He buried himself in her scent and the feeling of her against him, not releasing his grip in the slightest as he lifted her up and carried her over to the bed, while she wrapped her legs around his waist.

He made love to her twice. Afterwards she lay in his arms, their legs tangled together and her head nestled under his chin.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah…"

"Are you sure?" She looked up. Flecks of blue and green shone within her eyes, shimmering in the morning light. "Be honest with me… please."

"I'm… not," he sighed, "but I will be. You don't have to worry. Just… come back to me."

"I made a promise on our first night, didn't I?" she said gently, placing a hand on his cheek. "Do you remember?"

"I'm not sure we were talking about this kind of thing."

"Trying to be romantic here, Maker above," she sighed, rolling her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he laughed, "Yes, I remember."

"So then," she said, smiling brightly, "I promised I wouldn't hurt you. That must mean I'll come back."

"I'll hold you to that promise," he whispered. "I love you, Elsa."

"I love you too, Cullen."

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

Elsa checked her horse's gear, which was easier on her new mount than it had been on her charger. Hawke had suggested she get something smaller and faster for their trip, which Dennet had obtained within a few days through some of their new Orlesian contacts. The mare was shorter and much nimbler than the stallion was, and even a bit more slender than what she'd been used to at home. She was well trained, however, responding to the smallest commands and not flinching at anything when she tried her out in the paddock. Now she followed her obediently as she brought her to the gate, where her party was already waiting.

Dorian and Bull stood together, the Qunari leaning forward on his massive horse to prevent the mage from having to crane his neck, engaged in an animated conversation that looked like it might've started in bed before they had to get ready. Varric's eyes were a little thick with sleep as he sat atop his pony, but he greeted her with cheer when she joined them. Hawke, armed to the teeth, looked at her horse, then nodded her approval.

This would be her group. Though she felt a little nervous about its small size, she didn't doubt the people it contained in the least. Cassandra had left a few days prior, taking a team to follow a lead on the vanished Seekers, and hadn't yet returned. Elsa had encouraged her to do it, somewhat glad at the distraction; she wasn't sure if she'd wanted her to come along if she had been around. Somehow she felt the warrior might not agree with all of what Hawke had planned for her… While Elsa was a little apprehensive herself of what it might entail, she also knew no one had pushed her out of her comfort zone as much as the mage had done. She didn't want anyone to interfere as she continued to do so. It was for similar reason that she had asked Solas to accompany the Seeker, though Hawke had her own slew of reasons as well for not bringing him along; they didn't need another mage, a larger team would slow them down, that guy has his head both too far up the Fade and his own ass, and also we're not taking the creepy kid. She'd defended Cole to her, but the Champion wouldn't hear of it. Given her previous experience with a spirit possessing a human body, Elsa supposed she couldn't blame her.

"Ready?" Hawke asked her.

Elsa looked to the keep. They'd been saying goodbye all morning, to the point where it had become so ridiculous they'd decided he wouldn't come out to see her off. Now that she was about to leave, she regretted that decision. It didn't last long, however, for he emerged from the hall but a moment later.

"Thought I might've missed you," he said as he walked up to them.

"We wouldn't leave without saying goodbye to you, Curly," Varric said jokingly.

"Indeed," Dorian chimed in, "Come, Commander, give us a hug."

"You can all sod off," he said, smiling, "I'm just here for Elsa."

"My heart," the mage replied, gripping his chest, "Such cruelty behind such a pretty face."

"We'll wait for you outside," Hawke chuckled, "Don't be too long. See you out there, Cullen."

"See you, Hawke. Take care."

"Always do."

The rest raised their hands and said their own goodbyes to him, then spurred on their horses to leave through the gate. Cullen turned his attention to her mare, checking her state and equipment. Satisfied, he turned to her, and took a deep breath.

"I know how to prepare a horse," she teased.

"I know you do, but… nothing wrong with a second opinion."

"Thank you," she laughed, "I thought we agreed you'd stay inside."

"We did," he nodded, "Then I changed my mind."

"I'm glad you did," she sighed, putting her arms around his neck, "but how is this going to work now? I'll never leave like this."

"You will," Cullen chuckled, "I'll put you on this horse myself and send it off, if I have to. I just… wanted to see you one more time."

"You've seen so much of me already these past days," she murmured, brushing her nose against his.

"Never enough."

He kissed her, sending the fire in her chest in overdrive. She was still worried for him and how he'd cope without her, but he had his extract and he had his soldiers… Without her presence and that of his closest friends, all she could do was hope that it was enough. The sense of despair in his touch had not lessened much as they got closer to her departure, neither the frequency at which she caught him watching her like it was the last time he was going to see her. But the next time they would meet, they'd be in the desert, where they didn't know what was awaiting them. However hard it was to leave him, the thought that she could be of use to him in that situation rather than a burden, overwhelmed her wish to remain a hundredfold.

He gave her a boost into the saddle, then held the reins a moment before he passed them to her. She leaned down to kiss him one more time, drawing out the moment until he broke away.

"Go on," he said, "Go learn things. Just don't forget about us paper pushers on your adventures."

"Never," she promised. "Take care of yourself."

"And you," he sighed, a wistful smile pulling on his scar.

They looked at each other for another long moment, until she dug her heels into her mount. The mare shot forward and exited the keep in a gentle gallop, the sound of her hooves echoing in the chasm as she crossed the bridge. The others were waiting for her, smiling at her approach, and turned their horses to begin their journey. Her heart was oddly still as she followed them, as if her feelings were too jumbled for any one in particular to surface and dominate the rest. She was sad, excited, worried, hopeful, anxious, homesick, and a whole swirl of less identifiable notes, all at the same time. Only once did she look back to see him standing atop the wall, his golden crown shining in the sun, before she rounded the bend and Skyhold disappeared from view.

Both times that she'd gone, a different person had returned to the keep than the one who had left it behind. The next time she'd come back here, she wasn't sure what the difference would be, yet she felt eager to find out. Though she'd said it on a whim, without much thought as to how it would play out in practice, her wish for them to treat each other as equals had worked out surprisingly well. But she couldn't be, not truly, if she couldn't protect him in the same way that he could protect her.

Whatever happened next, this was her chance to change that.

Whatever happened next, it would be worth it.


	37. Royal Road

"Hey, Sterling."

"Yes, Varric?"

"I spy something… white."

Elsa huffed a laugh. Road games were Varric's sign that he felt he'd travelled enough for one day. They could distract him for another hour or so, until he would declare the need for food, a drink, or both. She humoured him and looked around. They had left the mountains a while ago and were now travelling along the Imperial Highway, a wide road paved with uneven slabs of stone, that traversed the entirety of Orlais and passed by all major cities. It was the same route that they'd followed on their way to and from the Winter Palace. They would continue to do so for some time to come, until past Halamshiral, where they would eventually turn south towards the mountains. It currently led them through long stretches of farmland, where wheat and corn gently blew in the breeze behind worn picket fences. The sky had started to shift, from a bright blue to a deep lilac as the light faded with the lowering of the sun. Though it was starting to get darker, the summer warmth had not left them yet.

Clouds had been her first guess at something white, but there wasn't a single one in the sky. Indeed, as she continued to look, there was very little else that fit the description.

"That windmill?"

"That's beige, cheater."

"You're one to talk," she chuckled. "Those flowers?"

"No."

"The snow on the mountains behind us?"

"Guess again."

She scanned the surroundings further, but there was really not much to work with. Shades of green and gold, the occasional splash of vermilion or ochre, pastel coloured farm houses in the distance… Instead she turned her attention to their party. Dorian and Bull rode ahead of them, the mage on a dapple grey steed, the Qunari on a tall bay with markings.

"The socks on Bull's horse."

"No."

She glanced at him, finding him smirking at her in satisfaction. _Too darn smug…_

"If it's part of Dorian's horse, you're most definitely cheating."

"Like 'that patch on its butt', or something? Who do you think you're talking to? I wouldn't be so unfair."

She searched closer to home. His pony was a light chestnut, her new mount a golden palomino. Behind them was Hawke, smiling to herself with her eyes closed, her body swaying lightly with the motions of her black mare. Elsa hadn't thought of it before, but unless she wore something ceremonial, there was very little white to be found in any of their gear. Leather and metal, fabric died in dark colours that wouldn't easily stain… Whatever lighter shades there might've been were no longer recognisable as such within hours of travel along dusty roads.

"It's not something that used to be white, but now isn't, right?"

"I am offended, Sterling. What did I do to invite such suspicion?"

"It's that border on your shirt then."

He looked down. "Do you think I'm trying to make you ogle my chest?"

"Maybe you thought your neckline was too subtle."

"It most definitely is," he chuckled, "but, wrong again. That's not it either."

She let out a huff, tossing back a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail as she glanced around once again for something she might've overlooked.

"My hair doesn't count."

"Of course not."

"You're warm though." They turned around in their saddles. Hawke had opened her eyes and was smirking at Varric. "Plus, very correct to expect foul play."

"You stay out of it," he warned her, "You never want to play, so you've given up your right to weigh in."

"For good reason." The mage looked at her, then flicked her eyes to a point a little behind her head.

Elsa craned her neck to look, finding the end of her bow sticking out from behind her back, its whitened wood gleaming in the sun.

"It's supposed to be something both of us can see!" she exclaimed, whipping around to face the dwarf.

"You can!" he laughed, holding up his hand to ward her off as she pulled an arrow from her quiver and tried to smack him with the end of it. "If you look around you!"

"You keep this up, no one will play with you eventually," Hawke commented. "Then what will you do?"

"Annoy you with my complaining instead," the dwarf asserted. "You'll see how quickly you'll all be begging me to stop."

"Well, we won't find out today," she answered, glancing at the sky. She then nodded towards a sign, which announced the existence of a tavern some miles down the road. "Enough for today I think. Let's pull up there for the night."

"Already?" Elsa asked, ceasing her assault on Varric. "Don't we want to cover more ground and camp instead?"

"Not today," the mage smiled, "I have something else in mind."

They sped up their horses to a gallop and reached the inn after a couple of minutes. Hawke jumped down and took over Varric's reins to lead both their mounts to the stables, while he went inside. By the time they'd handed the animals to the stable boys and followed him in, he'd already arranged two rooms and the best table in the house.

"Drinks as soon as we've settled in," he declared happily, "and there's a roast in the oven."

"Good to see you haven't lost your touch," Hawke said approvingly, taking one of the keys he was holding out. "Are you staying with the lovebirds or joining us?"

"I assume they'll manage to control themselves," Varric replied, eyeing Dorian and Bull. "So you ladies can have your privacy."

"I resent that description," Dorian told Hawke and, adding to Varric, "Also, I'm concerned for our ears rather than yours, sharing a room with you and Bianca."

The trio went up together, despite Dorian's objections, and entered the first room on the landing. Hawke and Elsa followed them, then went into the one next door.

"So, are we going for training?" Elsa asked her, watching the mage as she tossed her bag into a corner.

"No."

"… Oh." She paused, unsure whether she should remove her gear. Hawke was doing so with practised movements, the pieces of her armour dropping unceremoniously onto the bed, but it seemed wasteful of the remainder of the evening to already go to sleep. "What are we doing then?"

The mage turned around. Without the chain mail, plating and belt, what remained of her Champion's attire was a simple black top, dark trousers, and a pair of worn leather boots. It made her look a lot more inviting, no different at a glance than any other tavern patron, yet no less capable of captivating a room.

"Getting drunk, of course," she said simply.

"Getting drunk?" Elsa repeated. "… What if someone recognises us?"

"Recognise what?" Her eyebrows rose a tick. "We're just a small mercenary company, hired by a dandy historian looking to document the civil war."

"Wait, what?" Elsa asked, shaking her head. "… Am I part of the mercenaries in that scenario? Not Dorian?"

"Sure you are," the mage shrugged. "Can't pass him off as one, he refuses to dress down. You're the charming one who can go undercover in fanciful company when needed. Varric manages the accounts, obviously. Bull and I are the muscle."

"Alright," Elsa chuckled, "Why exactly?"

"Because we can. Come on, let's go."

Elsa thought a moment, then removed her bow and quiver, followed by the outer layer of her armour. She placed it neatly on a chair beside the bed, like Cullen had showed her. The mage stood waiting for her at the door, a sceptical smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

"What?"

"Nothing."

The men were already there when they returned to the bar, having claimed a circular booth at the back of the room. Varric got up to let Elsa slide in between him and Dorian, while Hawke sat herself down next to Bull on the other end. Drinks had already been placed before them. They raised them in a toast, after which Elsa observed three of them being downed at impressive speeds. Dorian, while taking a generous swig, was a bit slower to follow.

"Orlesian beer," Hawke grimaced, slamming her empty mug back down, "I always forget how sweet they make that shit."

"Have another couple and you won't taste it anymore," Bull suggested, already trying to signal the barkeep for another round.

"We're not that far from the border yet," Varric said, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "They might have something Fereldan."

"I don't imagine many merchants would dare brave the penalty for smuggling such inferior brew," Dorian chuckled. "What do you think the punishment is? Quartering, or simple beheading?"

"Did I… miss an announcement, or something?" Elsa asked, looking on as the mage finished the rest of his drink. "Do we plan to drink ourselves into oblivion?"

"Well, halfway there, at the very least," Hawke grinned.

"For any particular reason, or…?"

"A reason to get hammered," Varric mused, "There's a thought."

Hawke considered her, resting her elbows on the table. "We need to talk about some things," she said eventually. "Might be easier with some drinks in you, but whenever is fine."

Elsa shifted in her seat. "About what?"

"About why we're here."

Dorian and Bull exchanged a look. "Closing rifts?" the mage suggested.

"That too," Hawke replied, not taking her eyes off her. "It's not going to be easy out here. We need all cards on the table moving forward, or we'll run into trouble later."

Elsa swallowed. She'd never changed the official reason for her lack of magic use, even as she started working with Solas. Most of her inner circle had been left with the same explanation as she'd given the templars and the Inquisition at large; that she was not very talented, but had been trained by her family and that she chose not to use it unless in dire circumstances.

"Ah… right," she said quietly, looking into her drink. With a deep breath she lifted it to her mouth, then chugged down the contents in a single take.

"Easy there, Sterling," Varric said over Bull's low whistle and Dorian's applause. "Don't overdo it."

"Master Tethras," she said gravely, "do not make the mistake of thinking nobles can't handle their liquor. The only way we get through most social events is by getting drunk before midday."

"Hear, hear," Dorian chimed in, lifting his empty mug. "So, what's the liquid courage needed for on this particular occasion?"

Elsa took a deep breath, relishing the buzz in her head. This was where she would stop if she were in Skyhold's tavern, but… she supposed that tonight there was little reason for her to do so. Though she'd grown quite accepting of her magic in her own mind, discussing the specifics of it wasn't something she'd gotten used to yet. She raised her gaze to the mage beside her, his grey eyes, a shade darker than her own, sparkling with anticipation. He was so exceedingly proud of his own status… she wondered what he'd think.

"Don't worry," Hawke said, evidently reading her thoughts, "He'll understand."

She and Varric were quiet as Elsa told the other two, as efficiently as she could, about the accident, what her parents had told her about her magic, how they helped her control it, her decision to start learning, and her work so far with Solas. She ended with explaining why the chapel had been out of order for several days. While neither of the pair made use of the space, Dorian had asked her about it when he'd come down to the garden to play chess with Cullen.

Silence reigned as the waiter came by to refresh their drinks. As soon as he left the table behind, Dorian picked up his mug and raised it to her. Surprised, she quickly mirrored it.

"Here's to wayward children and disappointing parents," he said, a wistful smile curling his moustache. "Let's drink ourselves into a stupor, shall we?"

o - o - o

The roast was excellent and the beer, much like Bull had anticipated, lost its sweet undertones the more they drank of it. Hawke lay on the table with her arms folded before her, charming a fork to do battle with one that Bull was holding in his massive hand like a tiny sword. Dorian watched them, providing running commentary several seconds after the fact with a slight drag to his words. Elsa had her legs pulled up on the bench and nursed her mug in her lap. She'd sagged lower against Varric with every refill, and suddenly became aware of — and enjoyed — the extreme sturdiness of his arm.

"Is Bianca like… really heavy, or something?" she asked him, squinting to keep him focused in her vision. "Writing doesn't get you so beefy, does it?"

"Beefy?" he laughed. "Well, you should know, Sterling. You write a fair amount of correspondence yourself."

She held up her arm, assessing it. It was a good looking arm, but not like his. "It doesn't," she declared.

"No shit," he chuckled, "Who'd have thought."

"Cullen trains a ton," she continued, unwilling to let the mystery go, "You never do."

"Curly is a pretty boy, but it should be obvious he can't compete with my great genes," Varric smirked, "Aeons of mining heritage just makes us beefy from the moment we pop out of the stone."

"… That's not how you were born."

"Very perceptive, Sterling."

"So… hey," Dorian said, tapping a finger on her knee. "Can you do that yet?"

He was pointing at the fork making cartwheels on the table, following the motion of Hawke's finger. Bull had dropped his own and now sat leaning back in his seat, eyes closed. Elsa tilted her head to observe the utensil, but quickly grew tired. She let it drop onto Varric's shoulder instead.

"I don't think so," she said. "So far I just put stuff on fire."

Hawke raised herself up a bit. "It's a start," she yawned. "We can keep working with that."

"I don't know if I want to… It's, like, really vicious."

The mages stared at her. "Well, yes," Dorian said. "That is sort of the point."

"You seem to have an aptitude for it," Hawke added, "Would be a shame not to use it."

"I suppose so," she said, chewing her lip, "I was thinking maybe I can do what Dorian does. That doesn't look so bad."

"You mean summon spirits to terrify people to death?" he said merrily, "It can be entertaining for sure… but I don't think it feels nice exactly when you're on the receiving end of it."

"Oh…" she said, deflating a little. "That sounds scary."

"Yes… I imagine it is."

Elsa thought a while, quite aware of the effort it took her brain to do so. It had been a while since she drank this much. It always came with the strange effect of slightly leaving one's own mind, observing its function from an outsider's perspective. Minor and major worries or concerns were still there, but seen from a distance, making them appear smaller. Though the effect wouldn't last forever, it was nice while it did.

"What were we talking about?"

"The type of magic you want to learn," Hawke reminded her.

"Right… I mean, I think barriers to start, right? They seem kind of essential."

"They kind of are," Dorian nodded, "Not to mention fairly tricky if you want to do them well."

"True," Hawke agreed, "Elemental is easier to start out with."

"But that all seems so… violent."

The Champion frowned. "Corypheus won't want to cuddle with you, Elsa."

"I know," she murmured, shrinking a little against Varric, "but is there a reason people need to suffer when I fight them? Arrows are pretty quick if you use them right… I like that."

"Maybe a school of magic that complements her archery?" the dwarf suggested. "Something a little less savage."

"Well, there's frost," Dorian said, starting to count on his fingers. "Restrains and freezes."

"Yeah, that's fun," Bull commented, grinning without opening his eyes.

"I almost froze to death once," Elsa replied with a scowl, "It wasn't peaceful at all."

"There's defensive spells too. Static can restrain people, that would be helpful for you."

"Hm," she murmured. "Maybe…"

"I suppose what would make sense are things that generally keep battle away from you," Hawke mused, looking hard at a point somewhere above the table. "Defend yourself if something does come close and be able to put distance between you and it."

"That sounds nice…" Elsa said quietly. "I'd like to do that."

"Healing, dispelling, force fields…" the mage murmured, "I'm not an expert in spirit magic, but it might make the most sense. You're so darn disciplined already."

"I can help," Dorian offered.

"You do need some elemental basics," Hawke warned, pointing a finger at her. "In case of emergency. Maybe you can imbue your arrows too."

"Okay… that sounds alright." She glanced at her. "Is that… alright?"

The mage's brow quirked inquisitively. "Don't make the mistake of thinking spirit magic is easy, just because it's less violent. There's a reason I'm not a specialist — I'm too impatient. You're in for a challenge."

"… I can handle a challenge."

"We'll find out, won't we?" she smirked, sounding satisfied as she gestured to the waiter. "Another round for now. We start tomorrow."

o - o - o

Any other patrons had long left by the time the barman cut them off, perhaps at the behest of their out of tune drinking songs, and they stumbled up to their rooms. Dorian and Bull, the former leaning heavily on the latter, disappeared into the first room. Varric supported Elsa until her bed. While Hawke crashed unto her own, Elsa faintly heard him pouring out glasses of water, then close the door. She closed her eyes, sinking into the warm feeling that had flooded her body, feeling safe and blissful in a way only Cullen's company usually managed, and fell asleep instantly.

The sound of curtains roughly being pulled away woke her some hours later. Sudden sunlight streamed onto her face, burning her eyes even through closed lids. She moaned angrily, tossing an arm over her face to shield herself, only for it to be lifted up and then dropped down unceremoniously.

"Ow!" She opened one eye, glaring at the disruption to her slumber. Hawke was little more than a silhouette against the light coming through the window, looming over her by the side of her bed. "What the heck?"

"Didn't I say we'd start today?" the mage replied cheerfully. "Get up already. We've got a lot to do."

"Wha—?" Elsa sat up and her hand shot towards her head. A sharp stab pierced her temple, dulling into a throbbing pain all along her skull. "Now?"

"I thought you started your days early."

"Not after a night like that," she complained, "Why'd we get so drunk if you wanted to work in the morning?"

"Because you needed to let go for an evening," the mage replied, sitting herself down in front of her, her legs crossed, "and now you're ready for your first lesson."

"Lesson? I'm completely —"

"Fucked?"

"Yes… fucked."

"That's the point," Hawke grinned, "You're not a proper mage until you've cured your own hangover. Call it a rite of passage."

Elsa would have expressed her surprise at supposedly being able to do such a thing, were it not for the pulsing of her head intensifying at the mere thought. "How?" she asked, wishing nothing more than for it to be gone.

"Drink this," Hawke said, handing her a glass of water. "What does your head feel like?"

"Like there's a druffalo stomping on it."

"More specific than that."

Elsa downed the glass, relieving the dryness of her throat. She concentrated, shutting her eyes tightly as she tried to analyse the brain-splitting sensation. "It feels like… my skull shrank overnight and now my head doesn't fit."

"Alright," Hawke chuckled, "That sounds simple enough. So, envision your skull at the proper size, perhaps expanding your brain to push outward until it is no longer being crushed, and cast."

"As simple as that?"

"It gets more complex," the mage shrugged, "But, in a nutshell, that's all there is to it."

She wanted to know more specifics. She'd heard the other mages speak of Veil-warping, ambient energy, cleansing enchantments, and a lot more terminology she wasn't sure how to interpret. But her head was bursting and not in any state where it could even begin to comprehend such topics, so instead she just reached for the pain with her hand and tried to imagine how it felt usually.

Her mana formed, a little slow, but responding to her request. The power ignited the space around her, an aura of anticipation that made the air quiver. It flowed through her veins, following her will to coalesce in her arm and surge at her fingertips pressing into her skin. The pressure on her head slowly began to lessen, gradually releasing its strangling hold over her brain contracting in on itself from the alcohol withdrawal, until it faded into a dull haze.

She breathed deeply, dropping her hand down.

"Feel better?" Hawke asked.

"Yeah," Elsa sighed disbelievingly, "Still tired though."

"Well, it's not a miracle cure," the mage smirked, "You don't want to grow dependent on it either, but it's useful in a pinch."

"Is it the same for other types of healing?"

"As I said, it gets more complex. You need a good knowledge of anatomy. It doesn't matter too much what state someone is in, as long as you have a clear idea of what they're supposed to be like under normal circumstances."

"Is that how you healed Varric? You just… pictured what he's like healthy?"

"Well…" She huffed a laugh and pulled one of her knees into her chest. "It took a lot more energy obviously. And I couldn't do everything, just… push it back into a shape where his body could handle the rest."

"I see," Elsa nodded, trying hard to internalise the idea of it. "But… it sounds so much more complicated when you hear others talk."

"You can do a lot more with specific techniques and a greater understanding of how to manipulate the Veil," Hawke explained, "but there's a reason children simply start using magic when they come into their power. It's an intuitive process, at its core."

"How do you… I don't know, decide which spell it turns into?"

"You picture it," she shrugged, "It can help to rely on memories. They're easier to conjure than complete fiction. The faster you can bring forth the image, the more agile you can be in casting."

A knock on the door made them look up and Hawke called out in answer of it. Varric poked his head around the corner, checked their state, then came into the room.

"Good morning," he said, eyeing Elsa's tangled hair, "You look radiant."

"She just cured her own headache," Hawke said, sounding quite proud.

Elsa felt her chest flush. Solas complimented her when she did well, Cullen was supportive… but neither seemed to take as much pleasure in her progress as the Champion did, nor did their opinion resonate with her in quite the same way.

"Good on you, Sterling," Varric praised her. "Are you ready for breakfast?"

"Yes," she gasped. The mention of food suddenly made her realise she was starving.

"We'll be downstairs," he chuckled, "Better hurry, or Bull won't leave anything for you."

o - o - o

It was the first and last time they stayed in a tavern. With the first exercise out of the way, Hawke preferred to avoid the main roads. For the following nights they made camp instead. The mage would then wake her up in the mornings, even earlier than she usually did of her own accord, and brought her to a quiet place to continue training.

They had settled on three areas of study for the moment. First, Hawke prioritised healing, shocking Elsa when she had first continued their efforts in that regard. On the next morning the mage sat down beside her, pulled out her knife, and sliced it across her arm without reservation.

"Maker's breath," Elsa gasped, quickly grabbing on to the mage's forearm to staunch the flow of blood, "What did you do?"

"It's a good thing we got you away from Curly for a bit," Hawke murmured, "You sound like a cleric half the time."

"I think there are more pressing concerns right now than what curse words I use!" Elsa argued, "What is this about?"

"This is practice. Go on."

"We're not… doing blood magic?" Elsa asked, looking at her with wide eyes.

"No," the mage said sternly, "but if you want to practice healing, you need something to heal. Anytime you're ready. Sooner rather than later though… it stings a bit."

Elsa stared at the injury, alarmed by the amount of blood dripping from the cut and running over her fingers, but then bent lower to examine it. It was deep, though from the way it bled, it didn't seem like she'd nicked a major artery. Unsure what to do, she continued to look at the gash, then at the mage.

"Don't panic," she told her, "It's no different than your headache."

She readied herself with a long exhale and focused on the mage's arm, trying to see through the blood and beyond the surface. Muscle, vessels, and the various layers of the skin… She'd read books on biology at home, among others, spending many hours of her solitude absorbing their information. Solas' reading material had been focused around the Fade, history of magic, and spirits. It was informative and helped her understand the nature of her skill, lessening the fear she had of it. Hawke's approach, in comparison, was a lot more practically oriented. She now wished she could recall those books she'd studied at home in more detail, though she thanked the Maker for her mind's ability to retain such knowledge better than the average person. With a deep breath she called forth her mana, willing Hawke's arm to knit itself back together with her mind. It happened gradually, the cut continuing to ooze in lazy pulses, until it slowly lessened to a trickle that dripped onto the grass below. Layer by layer, the Champion's wound melted shut, eventually leaving nothing more than a thin red line on her bloodied skin.

Hawke wiped it clean with her cloak and held it up to her face to examine it. "Good," she declared. "We'll try again tomorrow."

"You're going to scar!"

"What's another couple," she grinned, "Gives you motivation to do it right. Clean cuts like these don't leave marks, if healed properly."

The second thing she had to learn were barriers, which involved more complex manipulations of the Veil in maintaining their modulation and adjusting them to whatever attacks were incoming. It took her a number of days to get it right, but eventually she managed to conjure and maintain a shield for some duration. Dorian would join them later in the mornings to help out, taking turns with Hawke in testing her defences with different types of elemental spells or melee attacks from their staffs. Though they repeated Hawke's healing exercise while she was getting the hang of casting, her mistakes in barrier practice soon caused enough other injuries for her to practice on instead. They broke through the shield more often than not at first, not always managing to divert their attacks away in time before they hit her. Though it got increasingly less common with each passing day, there was no instance over the first weeks of travel that she did not return to camp with lingering bruises or scrapes. Varric looked at her with concern whenever she did and repeatedly reminded Hawke he wasn't going to be the one explaining to Cullen what had happened to her.

Finally, she accepted Hawke's insistence that she'd improve her elemental casting. She searched her memory for sources of inspiration, not finding it difficult to find something. Fire was always close to the surface, the memory no longer locked and barred away completely, although no less hurtful to revisit and hard to contain. Whenever she thought of ice, she was back in the Frostbacks, alone and shaking from head to toe in the howling blizzard. Lightning was the least traumatic and therefore, it appeared, the least strong of the three. She'd been lost in a thunderstorm once, after she'd gone hunting by herself. She'd been drenched by the rain and sat shivering in a small cave she'd found, waiting for the sky to stop breaking. While it had been scary, it did not really compare to either of the other two. Hawke wasn't too concerned when she explained this difference to her, saying she'd get the hang of it eventually. For the moment, the Champion seemed pleased enough with her progress in the other areas.

Though her body ached and the injuries stung, she felt herself improve each day. As scared as she'd been before, the apprehension seemed to have stayed behind in Skyhold's chapel. She'd been disciplined before but, for the first time in her life, she felt in control. Not simply containing the creature within her, restraining it from doing harm without her consent, but shaping it, commanding it to her will. It made her feel strong, confident… dangerous. Although this last thought concerned her, on the whole it also felt… right. She continued to practice every moment that she could find, even as they rode their horses; letting sparks fly between her fingers, making tiny blizzards spin on her palm… allowing fiery butterflies to emerge from her fist. At times she'd pull up her barrier in a flash, getting better each time at detecting the small charges the other mages sent her way without warning to keep her on her toes.

Her courage rose with every spell, kindling the fire burning in her chest. It warmed her to her core, persisting even as they drew closer to the mountains and their nights dropped to below freezing in the snow-covered hills. One morning, as they followed the direction of her mark in search of a rift, they climbed their way to the top of an icy peak. Dorian cast a spark of lightning her way, which she easily anticipated and caught in her shield. He complimented her and she made to thank him, when her attention was drawn to the howling of wolves ahead of them instead.

Her heart stilled as they reached the summit and stared at the shards of red lyrium stretching out over the valley below.

"Well…" Varric said quietly, "Shit."

"Yeah," Hawke sighed, pulling her staff from her back, "This is going to get messy." She looked at her, tilting her head. "Ready?"

Elsa swallowed, gathering her mana as she readied her bow. "Yes… let's do this."


	38. Red-Letter Day

Part of her had hoped, despite reports of continuing red templar activity, that they'd gotten most of them at Therinfal. It was only when they descended on the valley, that she was reminded of how large the Order had been prior to its demise, and how many more had already fallen to Corypheus before they had a chance to save the ones they had.

Hawke told her to retain her position in the back with Varric, not yet willing to expose her to the templars' dispelling capabilities. She didn't feel a need to argue with her and instead focused on supporting the others by extending their barriers when their own dissipated, shielding Bull from incoming attacks by conjuring obstacles in the paths of his assailants, and lacing her arrows with the elements for extra impact. It did not take long, however, for the templars to notice her interference and she found herself a target far sooner than she had been before.

One of them, red lightning pulsing in his armour, broke through the others and charged at them. Varric's bolt lodged above his knee-plate, crippling him, after which her own arrow took him down. A colossal monstrosity, more lyrium than man, tried soon after. Their projectiles glanced off the crystal, his vitals no longer vulnerable like they had been before. Panic swept her heart for an instance as it continued its rampage towards them, knocking Dorian out of the way with a long swipe of its crystallised arm. Then she caught herself, Bull's war cry rallying her mana with a roar, and the wall of flames erupted around her. Varric pressed against her, Bianca trained on the spot where the creature had been before. The behemoth stormed into the flames, but then halted in its tracks as the fire latched on to its limbs and surged across its body. They watched it go down with a howl, blistering and crumbling, until its blackened shape went still.

"You may not like it, Sterling," Varric said, wiping his brow, "but you've got to admit, it's pretty damn useful."

"Granted," Elsa murmured.

They watched the others take down the last of the squadron. The knight tried to raise his hand to Hawke, momentarily dampening the energy gathering around her staff, until she broke through and struck him down with a lightning bolt from the heavens. The mage then made the rounds, downing a potion while she checked for valuables or information. Off to the side, Dorian healed Bull's injuries, a number of cuts and bruises, before attending his own.

"I can't just play defence here," she continued, biting her lip. "This area is crawling with them… Look at the state we're already in after one fight."

"You're doing well, Sterling," Varric replied hesitantly, "but I don't think you should charge in quite yet. Especially not against templars. We'll just need to manage our resources a bit."

Elsa exhaled loudly, wondering how long they could afford the luxury of keeping her away from direct combat. Hawke gave her the answer soon after, for she came towards them, her forehead lined with a sharp frown.

"These guys are pretty far gone," she declared, weaving her way through the carnage and stepping over the smouldering remains of the behemoth, as if it were nothing more than a sack of spilled potatoes in a busy marketplace. "I doubt we can keep them off you the whole time, especially in open terrain like this."

"I've had templars use their skills on me," Elsa told her, "It's… weird. Like my insides freeze and my mind goes numb."

"Yeah," she grunted, "Not much you can do if enough of them gang up on you. One on one, however, it's a battle of willpower more than anything else. Don't accept it when they attempt to close your connection to the Fade."

"So… just be a rebel?"

"Exactly," the mage grinned, "but it's still better to just get out of their range as quickly as you can. Don't be shy." She looked back at the remains of the behemoth. "Though I can see you figured out that much already. Fortunately, the red lyrium seems to make them more concerned with blunt force than blocking magic. As long as you don't get overwhelmed, I think we'll be okay."

"Alright."

"Good. Seems like they have their main base up in that keep over there." The Champion handed her a bloody letter she'd pulled off one of them, then pointed up towards the mountains. A tall structure, somewhere between castle and mansion, rose up from between the trees. Elsa could make out several statues, owls with wings spread wide, lining the path and the entryway. Red figures stood out sharply against the snow as they patrolled the walls. "That letter speaks of a gardener," Hawke continued, squinting at the keep. "He seems to be in control of the red lyrium production. I say we storm that base and cut off the head of this organisation, leave the rest to scatter to the hills."

"We should check on that town," Elsa suggested, nodding to a couple of houses in the distance. "They might have more information."

"And a place to rest," Varric added, assessing the road and the position of the sun. "I doubt we've seen the last of them on the way there. It might not be a good idea to take on their stronghold today still."

"Is there a benefit to attacking at night again?" Elsa asked the Champion. "Like in Crestwood?"

Hawke shrugged in a non-committal way. "Maybe… but those bandits didn't know we were coming. These are trained knights and there's no way our presence is going to go unnoticed until we get there. They're going to prepare for an assault."

"All the more reason to avoid a direct attack then," Varric argued.

Elsa eyed the keep and the layout of the mountain. It seemed possible to climb it from the other side, perhaps allowing them to get onto the wall. "How about," she mused, "we take down what we can find out here, signalling our intent to storm the keep, and make the rest retreat. Then we survey the place and find another way in."

Hawke cast another glance at the mountain, her eyes darting over it to decide whether such a route might exist. "Alright," she said, "but you're the one to break the news to Bull this time."

"Fair enough," Elsa chuckled.

o - o - o

Several more bloody fights and a number of close calls later, they arrived — tired, but largely unscathed — in the village of Sahrnia. Barricades and crossbows lined the periphery, though it was unclear at which enemy they were pointed. They were unmanned, like most of the largely abandoned town. Bull's eyes shifted around nervously as they entered, his hand clenching around the hilt of his axe.

"Something is very wrong here, boss."

"I know… but these people aren't hostile," Elsa said quietly. Doors and shutters creaked open an inch or so as they passed by, eyes watching them nervously from within. "They're scared."

"Wouldn't you be, with those charming gents hanging around your town?" Dorian quipped.

"It's not just that, I think…"

They were received by the town's warden, Mistress Poulin, whose shifting gaze instantly reminded Elsa of Crestwood's mayor. Hawke seemed to be thinking the same, for she sighed with visible annoyance as the woman began to inform them of the town's situation. It wasn't much later that she confessed to selling the quarry to the templars, after which villagers had started going missing. Hawke left the room at this, opting to wait for them outside instead. Elsa contained her own outrage for the moment and instead focused on securing them a place to stay.

"Are you okay?" she asked her afterwards, as they walked to the house they'd been allotted.

"Fine," the mage spat, "Just fed up with… people in general, perhaps. Most definitely ones like her."

"It was probably hard to say no, when an army of templars showed up on her doorstep," Elsa sighed.

"Perhaps… It's not her paying the price though, is it?" She glared at the deserted buildings. When she spoke again, her voice had softened to a whisper. "It never is."

They followed Poulin's directions and entered a two-story building suitable for a large family. Elsa wondered where its inhabitants currently were… perhaps they were among those lucky enough to leave the mountains before the unusual cold had settled in. The party scattered as soon as they'd stabled their horses — Dorian to find a bath, Bull a couch to stretch out on, Varric and Hawke seemingly a pantry to raid. Elsa found a bedroom herself to deposit her gear. They'd stay a couple of hours to rest, then try to scout a route into the keep. She hoped it was possible… It had been challenging enough so far to dismantle the camps the templars had established throughout the region. Charging in from the front seemed like a fool's errand, even with Bull's capacity of breaking through enemy ranks like a cannonball.

Hard as it was, however… she was managing. Not only that, she was managing quite well. While Hawke's continued acknowledgements of that fact made her proud, she felt it without the Champion's encouragement too. The glow that burned inside her chest lit up at the thought of it. It was still unfamiliar, feeling the ebb and flow of her mana as it drained with each cast and recharged over time. One thing she'd noticed was that she tended to overexert herself, depleting her reserve too quickly, which made her spells fizzle out before she'd intended. She decided that this required her attention next, and made the mental note to bring it up with the other mages. Another point was her control over which spells she conjured. Several times now, when instinct took over, fire had formed instead of something else. At least, as Varric had noted, it was effective. Yet it was something she wanted herself to get a hold over; it seemed like a slippery slope to allow for unintentional spells, even if they did happen to be useful.

Perhaps she could go out for a bit and train, then catch a few hours of sleep. It was how she'd spent most of her downtime, though the natural limit of her mana eventually put a stop to it. It was then that she sat together with her companions, talking a lot more with Dorian since she'd told him her story and now learned about his… In comparison, her family didn't seem all that bad. He'd waved away that assessment, assuring her it was perfectly possible for both their relatives to be equally appalling in their own special ways. His training, far more formal than Hawke's, caused him to explain to her how she could manipulate the Veil with more specific techniques — stirring it to cleanse lingering energy, direct it like a whip to heighten the apex of her spells, and folding it to preserve energy until she decided for its release. Though it sounded like baking a cake, something he laughed at heartily when she told him, it was fascinating to listen to. It would be some time before she could consider implementing it in practice, but it no longer seemed completely impossible. The thought was exciting.

It was during these times, shortly before bed and when everyone retreated into their own spaces — washing up, reading a book, writing letters — that the thought of Cullen surfaced in her mind. During the day it was easy to push aside, but at night she couldn't ignore it. She'd found herself doing so without realising it at first; she hadn't tried to keep him out, not since they got together and thoughts of him only brought her joy. The first few days into their current journey it had been no different, her heart fluttering when she pictured his face or the feeling of his arms around her. She didn't notice it change, not until a week after their departure, when she'd sat down in one of those quiet moments at the end of the day to write him a letter. Surprise had caught her, followed by confusion, at the realisation that the idea of him was no longer accompanied by happiness alone.

She'd pulled out her writing utensils and spread out a piece of vellum before her. It was a little early for an official report, but she would write him a personal note instead. She'd promised she would. He hadn't asked, though he'd been pleased when she brought it up. She had even braved Leliana's teasing smile to request one of her special ravens, so that they may stay in touch as they were both on the road. Not for a minute had she imagined there might be a reason she wouldn't want to contact him. Of course she'd want to hear how he was doing and share what was going on with her. Yet when she'd sat down, quill at the ready, and written down his name… she suddenly didn't know how to continue.

There was no way of knowing what state he was in when he would receive her letter. He'd be happy to get it, sure, but once he would read it… could she be certain it was all received positively? Suddenly she was very aware of every word, every phrase, and how it might be misconstrued. Even if she took the greatest care possible, what did she have to report on? That they were freezing their butts off out here? That Hawke and Dorian helped her practice by attacking her? That Hawke sliced open her own arm repeatedly so she could heal the wound? …That she'd started seeing Myca in her dreams, picturing what he might've looked like by the time Hawke came across him, but that she hadn't asked her in case her dreams turned out to be correct? If he would read any of that, he would start worrying about her, more than he likely was already doing. If he read it on a bad day… she didn't want to finish that thought.

Elsa stood in the bedroom, wondering what to do, when her attention was drawn to Varric calling out to her from downstairs. When their search for a pantry hadn't brought any results, they'd gone to find some of the villagers instead. The dwarf proudly declared, grinning at her from the stairwell, that with the promise of sorting out the templar situation, they'd acquired a proper meal of bread, cheese, sausages and, he said with a flourish, wine. Living off rations for the past days as wildlife grew increasingly rare in the cold had soured his mood considerably. The promise of a proper meal, however, seemed to have made him forget about it completely. She smiled at his unbridled cheer and went to join the others downstairs. For the moment, she welcomed another distraction to keep her from having to consider the piece of paper still folded up in her bag.

o - o - o

Sundown came early in the mountains and it was long dark by the time they left the house again. Demons stalked the edge of the town at their departure. As they took them on, a knight came barrelling down the path and threw himself into the fight beside them.

A short time later, the chevalier pulled his sword from the last of the shades, tossing back a head of half-long, blond hair as he wiped his forehead.

"Hello," Hawke murmured, observing the man in her bird-like manner. "There's a sight for sore eyes."

"Aren't you happily hitched, Champion?" Dorian said to her. "Keep it in your pants."

"You're one to talk," she grinned. "Besides, nothing wrong with enjoying the view. Isn't that right, Inquisitor?"

Elsa threw her a look, but didn't have a chance to respond before the man approached her.

"Michel de Chevin at your service, Your Worship," he said with a slight bow, briefly taking her hand and retaining eye contact throughout. They were a vivid blue, striking in contrast with his fair skin and the colour of his hair. "I never expected to meet the Herald of Andraste herself."

"Oh, that's unfortunate," Hawke whispered to Dorian, "The accent killed it for me."

"Not for our Inquisitor, I think."

Elsa felt her cheeks burn as she ignored their snickering. She focused her attention on the knight instead, who hurried on soon after with the promise he'd protect the villagers from any more harm. His smile was dazzling as he saluted her, his features shining with gratitude for the Inquisition's arrival.

The pair of mages was staring at her as she turned around, their eyebrows raised to the sky and their enjoyment barely contained.

"Did you listen to anything he said?" Elsa asked irritably.

"Couldn't understand a word of it," Dorian replied, "Did you?"

She huffed a lock of hair from her forehead. "Wipe those smirks off your faces," she grunted, stomping up the path. "I expect you to take down that demon he was talking about. Don't look to me if you're not prepared."

"Yes, Your Worship," Hawke chuckled. "At your service."

o - o - o

They went on foot, taking to the mountains from one of the templar encampments they had cleared before in search of another way to the keep. Varric quickly led them out of the snow, where his shorter legs were a disadvantage, and onto the rocks to find them a path upwards. Elsa followed closely behind him, carefully watching where he placed his hands and feet to safely scale the narrow ledges.

"See, Sterling?" He hopped across a gap and onto a wider ridge. She took the hand he was holding out to her and jumped as well, happy to find steadier ground beneath her feet. "We'll make a mountain goat out of you yet."

"Baah."

He laughed. "I believe that's a sheep."

"… Really?" She searched her memory. "Am I losing touch with my farmer's roots?"

"Perhaps," Varric chuckled. "Do you mind?"

The rest of the group followed them onto the ledge and continued on into the shadow of the trees. Elsa thought a moment, conjuring her butterflies to help light their way.

"Meh," she said eventually, with a slight jerk of her shoulder.

"There is that goat." He winked and gestured towards the path. "After you."

o - o - o

The winding pass took them to the far side of the keep. Although the front gate had looked imposing and well-maintained, the parts the lay beyond were in various states of ruin. The walls were part stone, collapsed here and there and overgrown, and part worn iron fence. They stalked alongside them, darting between the patches of shade scattered across the moonlit snow. Inside, various camps of red tents had been established, templars milling between them or standing guard. The walls were unmanned here, likely because they considered the facing cliffs impenetrable.

"Seems like we can get up over there," Elsa said to Hawke, pointing at a crumbling tower. "Take them out from above."

"Seems like it," Hawke nodded.

Elsa looked at her. "… Should we?"

The mage shrugged. "This was your plan. You decide."

"What?"

Hawke continued to look at their surroundings, her eyes brightly reflecting the stars above. Her interest was on anything but her, until eventually she seemed to decide the silence had stretched on long enough. "What do you mean 'what'?" she asked, the corner of her mouth curling mischievously.

"Are you not taking the lead?"

"Nope," she said bluntly. "You can do it."

"What… what if I make a mistake?"

"Then we'll deal with it."

Elsa stared at her, quite at a loss for words. She wasn't ready… was she? The others were looking at her now as well, though none made to object to Hawke's suggestion. "Is… everyone okay with that?" she asked them, sure that at least one of them would not be in agreement.

"No issue here, boss," Bull assured her, "As long as I get to kill something soon."

"Agreed," Dorian chimed in. "It's fun to watch him kill things."

Varric was the only one who looked a little less certain, but he seemed to make a quick effort in winning himself over. "We're with you, Sterling."

Elsa swallowed away the remainder of her self-doubt, which she felt had little reason to exist while the others trusted her with their well-being. Her eyes flitted across the tents and the templars, the structure of the walls, and the spire that lay beyond.

"Alright," she breathed, exhaling her nerves, "Follow me."

She stepped lightly, finding patches where the snow was thin to limit it crunching beneath her feet. The others followed behind her, their own sounds muffled enough to escape detection from within, even Bull's. They reached the collapsed parapet and climbed to the top, kneeling low to survey the inside of the keep.

_Two knights, two archers… One behemoth and… what in the Void is that?_

One of the knight's arms were fused into spikes of lyrium, like crystal jousting lances extending from its armour. She hadn't noticed the type before…

"Better take that one down first," she whispered, nodding in its direction. "He looks like he might be trouble."

"I think I came across one similar in the desert," Hawke replied, squinting at it. "They move fast… shifting almost. It reminded me of Fenris a bit."

"That's not great news, Hawke," Varric murmured.

"I haven't met your beau, but it does sound bad," Elsa agreed, readying an arrow.

"Beau?" Hawke snorted.

"Comment on my vocabulary when we're done," she chuckled softly, "His head still looks normal — I'll take it down. Let's try to handle these without alerting any of the others. Restrain them. Varric, the archers."

Bull flexed his muscles, ready to pounce with his axe held behind him in anticipation.

"Bull?"

His eyes shifted towards her. "Yes, boss?"

"Quiet please… for the moment. We'll double back to take out the ones defending the entrance next, I promise."

He grinned. "Yes, ma'am."

Their spells and arrows hit near simultaneously. One of the knights grabbed his head in agony as Dorian's spirits invaded his mind, the other found his body frozen solid in a block of ice. The archers dropped to their knees and fell forward, Varric's bolts sticking out from their necks. Her own arrow, burning brightly in the night, lanced through the air and struck the deformed templar in his visor. The flames flashed upon impact, briefly lighting up its helmet from within like a lantern, until he too collapsed to the ground.

Bull pulled his axe free by the time the rest of them came down from the wall. He tilted his head, weapon resting on his shoulder, and waited for her word. She huffed a laugh. He was off with an incline from her head, her and the others chasing after him, and led the charge as they engaged the following group of templars.

o - o - o

With the entrance cleared, they pressed further into the keep. The path snaked through the ruin, disrupted by nature taking over the broken statues and the caved in arches. Elsa continued to send Bull ahead, though she soon found herself growing concerned how long his determination would last. Cuts lingered on his arms and torso, no longer closing fully even with their medical attentions in between encounters. Though she doubted he'd ever admit it, she didn't think she was imagining his breath growing more laboured and his motions slowing down. It had been a definite advantage to have Cassandra with them on their previous mission and share the load.

Hawke and Dorian were engaged on the other side of the courtyard, Varric stood some distance behind them on a massive tree root that had broken through one of the walls. Elsa considered briefly, then pushed forward to put herself in range of the warrior and extend her barrier towards him.

"Thanks," he said, taking the momentary break of her shield to wipe blood from the corner of his mouth.

Elsa breathed heavily. Her own powers were draining too, her spells growing weaker with each repeat, but the enemy's numbers were thinning. If only she could press on a little longer, they would —

A loud roar came from their side. Bull's brow furrowed, confused for a moment, then smoothed in recognition with the widening of his eyes. Another templar had been charging towards him, but the man was thrown off his feet as the wall burst apart beside him. Rocks flew everywhere, whipping up the snow in billowing clouds. Then, from the dust, a shape began to form.

"Get back, boss," Bull called, whirling his axe in his hand and gripping it tightly.

The giant stared at them blankly, its beady eyes shining like beetles within its bald head. Its legs were shackled, though the chains were broken, as if he'd pulled himself free from his confinement. Large tusks protruded from its jaw, one of them broken off with a jagged edge, the other curved like a scimitar. Its entire body was faintly glowing red with the lyrium growing from its shoulders and over his body. Elsa stared at the creature, frozen in place while its skin around the crystals twitched like a horse's chasing off a fly. Then it roared, and it charged straight at her.

Her barrier flashed into existence, catching its fists in the air before they could crash down on her. She watched them above her head, flashing against the shield until he lifted them back up for another charge. There was a feral craze in its face, spurred on by the pain of the lyrium… a tortured animal lashing out to whomever dared to come close.

She pulled an arrow from her quiver. Her elbow moved back swiftly, years of practice asserting itself within a single motion. The hands came down once more, causing her shield to flicker and her mana to drain, but she stood her ground. The fists parted briefly and gave her the opening she needed.

The giant stumbled back, slowly reaching for the arrow sticking out of its forehead. A crunching noise sounded almost immediately after and its hands dropped to its side. For a long, drawn out moment, he stood still, swaying on his legs like a tree in the breeze, until he fell forward without any attempt to brace himself for impact. Elsa stepped back to avoid being crushed and saw Bull appear from behind it — his axe was still sticking out of the back of the giant's head.

They stared at each other through the lingering remains of her barrier. It flickered out shortly after, at which the Qunari let out a victory howl.

"Nice one, boss!"

Elsa huffed a chuckle. Then she laughed. It rapidly evolved, growing into a deep, unrestrained outburst of emotion that began in her toes and shook her by her core. She stood hunched over, steadying herself with her hands on her thighs.

"Fuck," she breathed. "We did it."

Bull's own laughter increased at the sight of hers. He began to move towards her, walking around the giant's remains, then halted in his tracks. The grin vanished from his face in an instant as he glanced around, searching for something. She wiped a tear from her face. Her mind, hazy from the loss of mana, slowly began to wonder what he'd noticed. Then, quite suddenly, she was on the ground.

Her arm was on fire, surging pains shooting up her shoulder and down into her hand. She grabbed it on instinct, unsure why her hand became warm and wet as she did. In a haze she looked up at the templar that had shifted into existence, its eyes burning hotly behind his visor. For some reason, one of his deformed arms was dripping with blood. He stood over her and opened his mouth, letting out a low hiss. Tears clouded her vision, blurring the motion of his arm pulling back for another strike. Then he was gone, smashed out of view by the horned silhouette of someone familiar.

She looked down at the wound, forcing her mind to stay awake, but couldn't see the gash clearly through the blood pooling within it. What was clear, was that her flesh was split open, hanging off to the side. Her breath climbed into her chest as she continued to clutch the wound closed, fighting to keep it shut with the skin slipping from her fingers.

The sounds of combat ceased around her, finalised by Bull tearing his axe from the templar rogue. The others quickly made their way towards her. Dorian was sporting a large bruise on the side of his head, Varric was holding a hand to his own ribs. Hawke spat on the ground, leaving a bloody stain, but seemed relatively unharmed.

Varric reached her first, dropping to his knees next to her. "Do something," he told Hawke, his hands hovering helplessly by her arm.

The mage came closer, angling her head, then knelt down. She took a long moment to look at her arm, then at her face.

"She can do it herself."

The dwarf stared at her. "What?! Maker's ass, Hawke, get to it already! She's bleeding out!"

He began to rummage in his bag for a potion, but the mage held out a hand to stop him. "You're better off taking that yourself," she replied, eyeing the dark red stain forming on his side. "It's not going to fix hers. She needs to heal it."

"Hawke, what the fuck?" he cursed, swatting her hand away. "This isn't the time for —"

"Didn't you tell me people should stop underestimating her?" the mage said sharply. "You're doing the same!"

"There is a difference! Just help her already, you're right here!"

"Next time, I might not be!"

The dwarf's eyes widened. They stared at each other, the argument suspended uncomfortably between them, as if it had taken place many times before and no more words could reasonably be wasted on repeating it. Elsa looked between them, confused and growing faint.

"Hawke," she cried. The mage's eyes snapped to hers. "I… I can't. Please…"

She reached out, taking hold of Elsa's chin between her thumb and forefinger. The blue eyes stared hard into hers, clear as crystals. "You can. In another situation, we might all be down. You only hurt your arm… you'd have to pull the rest of us back."

Elsa looked at her in disbelief, tears running hot down her cheeks in the frosty air. The pain in her arm was dulling over as her mind begged for rest. Her energy continued to drain with her blood seeping out onto the snow, spreading through it like wine on a pristine table cloth.

"I… my mana. It's gone, I… I had to keep the shield up."

"You have lyrium potions." Hawke nodded towards the pack on her belt. "Take one."

"Hawke!" Varric hissed.

Elsa swallowed hard, drawing a shaking breath to combat the exhaustion. With a lurch from her stomach she released the grip on her arm, feeling the wound fall open, and tried to open her pouch. Her fingers were slick with blood, sliding off the clasp several times before she could undo it. Further suppressing a wave of sickness, she reached inside and withdrew a vial, bright blue liquid swirling inside.

She'd seen what effect it had on people… She'd decided she never wanted to have anything to do with it, not even if her body did process it differently than her brothers'. With effort she brought the flask to her mouth and gripped the cork with her teeth, pulling it off with a small _pop_.

Her power surged the moment the liquid hit her throat, filling her with a bravery she'd only felt whenever Bull bellowed his war cries across the battlefield. Her mana leapt to life within her, alert and ready for directions, anticipating her spell before she even had a chance to formulate it. Spirits sung in her mind — not hostile, but celebrating her connection to the Veil. With new resolve she looked to Hawke, meeting her gaze through the haze of holy blue, whose mouth quirked into a small smile in return.

The magic flashed in her core, rushing through her veins in search of the damage to its host. It halted in her upper arm, flaring hot as it settled itself around the wound, until it began to weave her form back together. She helped it along, pulling her skin into place to a point where her mana could take over. In a strange moment of clarity, nothing in the world mattered except her magic and the fragments of the Fade that rose to assist her survival. Little by little, her arm returned to its original state, until all that remained was a jagged scar cutting down the length of it.

Hawke took her arm once she'd finished and examined it. "It was a nasty cut," she stated matter-of-factly, "You'll likely keep the scar."

"I suppose I had to get my first one some time," Elsa said, blinking against the sudden rush to her head. "It still hurts a bit."

"Your body needs rest," the mage answered, "when we're finished."

"Perhaps we should break here," Dorian suggested, holding a glowing hand to his own injury.

The Champion stared at the back of the keep, while Elsa turned towards Varric to heal the wound on his side. He protested at first, but let her continue once she assured him she was alright. "Thanks, Sterling," he said quietly, watching her intently as she straightened herself up.

"Did I get it?" she asked uncertainly. "I don't feel a disruption anymore… but I can't see."

"I think so." He prodded the spot with his fingers. "Good as new. Here," he added, handing her the potion from his bag. "Take that."

"Wouldn't you rather —"

"Just take it."

She obliged, swallowing the red liquid like she had the blue. Its effect was gentler, spreading a warmth through her body as if having a warm drink on a winter night, and dulled the lingering ache in her arm.

"It seems like we're almost through," Hawke muttered, her eyes still on the entryway. "There can't be many left, or they'd come out by now." She turned her attention back to Elsa. "Can you still use your bow?"

Elsa picked up her weapon and got to her feet. Her drawing arm shook as she pulled back the string, but she managed to stabilise the shot with enough effort. Perhaps it was irresponsible to continue, but… she really didn't want to come back out here on another day. "I think I'm okay," she told Hawke, trying her best to sound resolute.

"Good. How about the rest of you?"

Bull grunted his approval, Dorian checked his potion supply. "A bit more," the mage agreed, "but we're turning back if I run out."

"Fair enough," Hawke replied and, focusing on Varric, "You?"

The dwarf considered her, his brow furrowed and his jaw tense. Perhaps he was running through other situations they'd been in together, where they had faced similar decisions. Elsa wondered if he'd questioned her in those times as well, or if that had only started once she had come along to invoke his protective instincts.

"I'm okay, Varric," she repeated, "We can finish this."

He glanced at her, then looked back to Hawke. "No fucking around," he said darkly, pointing at the lifeless corpse of the giant, "It's not the place. Next time someone gets hit, whoever happens to be around deals with it." Hawke raised an eyebrow, but nodded in consent, then held out her hand. He took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet. The dwarf then picked up Bianca, gingerly checking her for damage as he brushed the snow off her. With a short sigh he rolled his shoulders and cocked the weapon with a loud clank. "You stay with me, Sterling," he said brusquely. "No running ahead anymore."

She blinked in surprise, unaccustomed to him giving any orders. He straightened himself up a little more as she came to stand beside him, giving Hawke a challenging look. The mage merely shrugged in return. "I was going to suggest the same. Let's wrap this up."

o - o - o

A stillness settled over the keep. They exited the courtyard and approached the spire rising from within the walled shrine. A lone man stood waiting for them in the centre, surrounded by stalks of lyrium growing from the ground. The image was familiar… far too familiar. He cocked his head when he saw them, his eyes drifting over their drawn weapons.

"Now, now… Surely there is no need for that," he said calmly, focusing on Elsa. "Herald of Andraste… Welcome to my garden."

She took a step forward. He looked rather unassuming and appeared to be unarmed. Normally she wouldn't want to draw her weapon on someone like that. Yet there was something lingering behind his eyes, an other worldliness she recognised from miles away. She'd seen it only once before, yet it was an instance she would never forget — right before the Lord Seeker had grabbed her and pulled her into the darkness. While this demon did not seem to have that intent, she was eager to avoid any possibility of history repeating itself.

The man watched her as she drew an arrow from her quiver and laid it against her bow. "There now," he said softly, "I heard you were a woman of reason. Can I not offer you something, to prevent another senseless act of violence? I assure you, I do not care enough about these templars and their mission to fight you."

"A desire demon," Dorian mused, eyeing the man with curiosity, "Interesting."

"Don't bother talking to it," Hawke cut in, energy already coalescing in her staff. "It won't give you anything without wanting something much worse in return."

The demon laughed before anyone else could answer her. "Desire demon," it chuckled, "That sounds so… insidious. Personally, I prefer 'Spirit of Choice'. I do not force anyone to do anything… I simply offer people what they might want. Now, what will you choose?"

"Choose?" Elsa asked.

"Yes, choose. I have many options. Power… riches… Virgins, if you want them."

She'd been ready to tighten her bowstring, but found herself momentarily diverted by this last option. "Virgins?"

Varric snickered a short chuckle beside her. "Where would you get those from?" he asked, looking around.

It paused, thinking. "Well, maybe I can't give you those. But I can give you something else instead."

"I don't think you have anything I want," Elsa said, smiling as she began to ready her shot.

"Really?" the demon smirked. "What if I cured Cullen of his lyrium problem?"

She froze, her bow drawn halfway. "… What?"

"I offered it to some of the templars here," he continued, gesturing around him. "Red lyrium in their case… Harder to remove, higher price to pay. Taking away your friend's need is easy in comparison."

"He's managing fine," she said sharply, "Why would I make a deal with you for that?"

The longer the demon looked at her, the more distant the world seemed to become. His presence reached out to her through the Fade, probing the corners of her mind. She instinctively tried to shut it out, but something else inside of her resisted… _Cure him?_

When he spoke again, it was as if he whispered right into her ear, sending shivers down her core. "Fine, you say?" the voice murmured, "Is he really? Also while you're gone?"

Her throat felt dry. "Yes," she replied, ignoring the wavering of her heart, "He's alright."

"Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. It doesn't matter, does it? The time will come where he won't be."

Her surroundings distorted, blurring the images of her companions looking at each other with concern. Elsa stared at the man, whose mouth was saying things she'd barely acknowledged in her own mind. Cullen made her happy, happier than she knew she could be. He made her laugh, made her feel safe. But then there were moments… Moments where the force with which he loved her became a weight to bear rather than a strength. Where she couldn't sleep, hearing him feverishly mutter her name in his nightmares. Where she would wake to find his fingers digging into her skin, unaware of their strength, like a drowning man clinging to a raft. Where he pulled her tighter against him than usual or breathed in her smell just a bit longer on a bad day. Where his fingers bore into his temple in frustration and his eyes went distant. Where he wouldn't talk to her and instead told her not to worry, which only made her worry more.

"You've seen your brother relapse time and again. The anger, the pain…. Wouldn't it be nice to be done with that? Not having to worry, not startling awake every other night. Without the lyrium, it would be so much easier."

Every word made her lose herself more in the worries clawing their way to the surface, dragging her down into the deep. She loved him when he swept her off her feet, taking her with him into that overwhelming sense of belonging. Yet a fear manifested for that same intensity, ever lingering on the border between desire and desperation. She'd told herself she was imagining it. That even if she wasn't, then perhaps it was fine the way it was. If she could be a comfort to him, in whichever way possible… Surely, that was a good thing?

But what if he'd fall on the wrong side of that line? If the darkness would claim his amber eyes in a moment of weakness? What if, one day, he'd catch her in a bad moment and she couldn't deal with it? There had been instances, where she was tired or stressed, that had already been challenging. It was inevitable that she would slip up eventually… she didn't want to know what that might do to him.

Another shape appeared beside the demon, forming from a whirl of wind tossing up the snow. Bright eyes, golden hair, the white linen shirt with the open laces she loved to see him in… and a laugh he'd shown so few times she could count the instances on one hand — so much rarer than his asymmetrical smirks, his gentle smiles, or the tiny quirks that tugged on his scar. It took anyone around him by surprise, lighting up their faces along with his own for the brief moment that it surfaced. Once a recruit had drawn it out by knocking him to the ground with an impressive counter. One had been in her quarters, another when they played cards in Skyhold's tavern… Now it was simply there in all its radiance, unclouded by the voices stalking him from the shadows, and presented to her as if it was the most normal sight in the world.

"He might be like that all the time, you know? Without the thirst, without the terrors… Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"Something still happened to him," she said softly, not raising her voice to answer the one slithering in the recesses of her mind, "The memories—"

"But they would be so much easier to deal with, wouldn't they?"

A hand closed around her arm and she looked away with a start. Varric was standing beside her, fixing her intently with his gaze. "Sterling," he said firmly, "We can talk about this stuff later. Let's say goodbye to the demon now, alright?"

She swallowed and cast one last look at Cullen, looking carefree and unspoiled, if only she would allow it. Then his smile faded, until eventually his image dissipated completely as she drew back her bow. Imshael smirked, seemingly satisfied with the effect he'd had on her. It made her anger flare, fanning the fire rising in her chest. With its tip bursting into flame, she let her arrow fly, just as the demon morphed into its true form.


	39. Aftermath

By the time they could claim the keep, she was exhausted. Whatever potions they'd had on them had been drained and she could no longer tell what parts of her body were fine and which carried injuries. Instead, everything blended together into a sinking heaviness that saturated her senses, pulling on her limbs as if they were stuck in quicksand. It cost her all her effort to simply put one foot in front of the other as they retraced their steps through the ruin and, eventually, found their way down.

The sun had begun to set some time ago and only barely skimmed the tops of the mountains. By the time they reached Sahrnia it had gone down even further, taking what little warmth there had been along with it. With her last energy she dragged herself back inside the empty house, found her bed, and crashed into it without changing out of her armour. She'd fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

She woke deep in the night to the lingering pains. Some were sharp stings, others dull pulses; all worse than they had been before now that the potions' effects had worn off. Elsa groaned when she pushed herself to a sitting position and tried to direct her mana towards it. The pain subsided, slowly, though it did not disappear completely. She sighed deeply, telling herself to be positive… For leading her first mission, magic and all, she'd done well. While she knew this to be true, the tangible results of her mistakes made it difficult to celebrate.

Her fiery butterflies accompanied her as she shuffled from the bed and lit the way in search of a washroom. It didn't take long to locate it. She closed the door behind her and stripped down, removing the layers one by one and dropping them to the ground without ceremony. With a gesture from her hand the wash basin filled with ice, then melted into the perfect temperature as flames ignited around it. Not the most elegant way to go about it, but one that she could now perform without too much consideration. Moreover, it did the job. She scrubbed her skin and washed her hair, eager to clean off the grime. Yet while she could remove the physical evidence of the day's events, she couldn't tell how long it would take to cleanse all the impressions from her memory.

When her body was clean, she washed out her clothing, then dried them by conjuring a warm current. If she'd known magic could be so useful in day to day tasks, she might've started learning it years ago. The cloth was warm on her skin as she pulled it back on, a welcome reprieve from the chilly air in the cottage. With a sigh she looked at her armour, crusted with blood and stained with ooze, and heard Cullen's voice in her head. _Always clean it as soon as possible to prevent it from hardening._ It was hard to muster up the energy right now, but the other task that was awaiting her was writing her report… neither was inviting, but grabbing a cloth and some oil won out for the moment.

She gathered the leather pieces and went out. The house was quiet, with only the low rumble of Bull's breath sounding from one of the other rooms. She retrieved her bag and went downstairs into a small study, where she let her butterflies drift into the hearth to light a fire within. There was a low table in front of it, standing on top of a soft rug. She placed her armour on it and sat down on the ground. With purposeful motions she began to clean it, focusing her mind on the menial task to postpone having to consider the more complex one.

Eventually, after an extensive time of picking the filth from the stitches and grooves, she finished and carefully placed her equipment to the side. It was satisfying to see the result, at least, and tomorrow she would be grateful she hadn't skipped it. The cleaning supplies were replaced with writing utensils and she penned down the events of the day in twofold — one to send off to Skyhold, the other to the army marching on Adamant. While it was challenging to recall some of the details, that wasn't the hard part. The hard part came next, when she unfolded the piece of paper she'd been carrying around for the past days.

_Dear Cullen._

Unfortunately, today's events hadn't made it any easier to determine what should come next.

He'd have her report… She'd skipped any of the disturbing details, focusing on the big picture. In the grand scheme of things, the only thing that really mattered was that they had been successful and that they were alive. It didn't really matter that she couldn't stop thinking of the letters they'd found of the templars questioning their mission, or the dying knight in the spire who had nearly taken the demon's deal. It didn't matter that she found herself questioning the Maker on their way back from the keep and why he would allow all of this to happen. It didn't matter that she'd had to steady her wrist with her other hand as she wrote the reports, her arm trembling with the lingering ache. While part of her would have wanted to tell him if they were together… she still couldn't bring herself to do it in writing.

Should she be able to share these things with him? Was it too much to ask? Perhaps she wasn't giving him enough credit… but what was the point of worrying him and making his situation more difficult than it already was in preparation of the siege? He couldn't do anything with the information where he was now, which she imagined was somewhere along the Imperial Highway… The only benefit was that she might feel better in unloading her worries onto him, after which he was simply left to deal with them by himself.

She dropped her head in her hand with a heavy sigh and let her finger trace the shapes of his name. Maybe it was better to just put it off for another couple of days… Wait until she felt better herself. It would happen eventually. Perhaps —

Somewhere in the house, footsteps sounded hollow on the wooden floor, followed by someone rummaging through a cupboard. Elsa got up, wondering who else might be awake at this hour, and opened the door of the study she'd been in.

"You don't think you went a bit far?"

She lingered in the doorway, her ears fixed on the sound coming from down the hall. There was a quietness to Varric's voice she had not heard often. Whatever he was discussing and whomever he was discussing it with, the conversation was not meant for anyone else. She wanted to close the door again, but the words that followed made her pause.

"She needs to learn," Hawke's voice said. "I know I'm being harsh, but if I don't push her, I'm not sure who will."

"I know, I know…" A hollow _plop_ sounded, followed by the sound of a liquid being poured. "It's weird though. I haven't seen you this committed to something in a while."

The mage let out a humourless chuckle. "Right? Surprised myself there too… Not sure what happened. I think maybe I just stopped caring at some point."

"When?"

"After mom, I suppose. Anders just… made it worse."

"… What changed?"

"Don't know. It just feels like… If this isn't it, then what is?"

"You mean… you still believe those things?"

"I'm not sure how to answer that. All I know is that something keeps pulling me into these situations. And this? A hole in the sky and Corypheus running around again? How much worse can it get?"

"I brought you here, Hawke. It wasn't some unseen force… it was me."

"You think I wouldn't have heard about this shit without you writing it on a piece of paper? I'd have caught on eventually. All you did was make sure I arrived in time to make a difference."

"I just —"

"Stop it, Varric. We've had this argument. Fenris and I have had this argument. I am not going to hide out somewhere, like a dragon hoarding my treasure, just so I don't run into any trouble."

"I know," he sighed, "It's just… we don't want to see you hurt."

"Neither do I… Can we stop discussing it now, please? Forever? It's a fucking downer every time."

A long moment of silence lingered, in which Elsa imagined they both drank deeply from their glasses. Soft thuds sounded soon after, followed by the sound of a bottle being emptied once more.

"What was the deal with that demon, do you think?" Varric asked.

"Sounded like it tapped into her fears," the mage said slowly, her voice contemplative. "Cullen… they seem happy, but we have no idea how he is around her in private."

"He's so crazy about her though… I can't imagine they're not."

"A little too much perhaps? It seems pretty intense, considering they haven't been together that long yet."

"If it's not intense in the beginning, when is it going to be? That only goes down over time."

"Speak for yourself," she chuckled.

"Please don't go into detail about Broody… I don't want your crazy shenanigans in my head."

"Excuse me, we're two very good-looking people. You could do a lot worse."

They laughed quietly. Elsa stood still, fighting the emotion rising in her chest. Part of her wanted to go out there and set the record straight, another wanted to hide. They were hitting a nerve — one that she wasn't ready to admit was there, but that the demon had laid bare for all to see. She made to step back into the study and close the door, but one of the floorboards creaked under her foot. A hush fell over the house, followed by swift footsteps approaching. Hawke's face was lit up with the energy flaring around her hand, but her shoulders relaxed the moment she saw her.

"Hey… how long have you been there?"

"A while," Elsa admitted. "We're fine, you know. Cullen… we're fine."

The light dissipated. Hawke looked her over, then nodded towards the kitchen. "Come on. Have a drink with us."

Varric looked a little guilty when she rounded the corner. He pulled out one of the stools standing around the high table, gesturing for her to sit beside him, while Hawke searched the cupboard for another mug. Elsa took the drink she slid towards her with a sigh, then drank it down.

"Another?"

She nodded and the mage refilled it. This time she took it in her hands instead, warming the wine with her mana until steam drifted off the top. "Thanks," she said quietly, before taking another sip.

"Can you do mine?" Varric asked her. Elsa reached out to his mug and warmed the liquid by the tips of her fingers. "Why didn't you have that idea, Hawke?"

"I just drink, whatever shape or form," the mage chuckled, following her example with her own mug. She wasn't sitting, but instead leaning with her elbows on the table, her legs stretched out behind her. "I don't usually take the time to sit and enjoy a fancy beverage."

"It's not any fancier than normal," Elsa said, smiling weakly, "Just nicer, with very little effort."

"Too much effort for me, apparently," she joked. "We're different in that."

Elsa nodded, looking into her drink. She could see the other two exchanging a look from the corner of her vision. "We really are fine," she repeated, anticipating what the pair was silently communicating. "Cullen is… he's wonderful. I've never… We're happy."

"We didn't mean to suggest that you're not, Sterling," Varric sighed, "But… it can't be an easy situation. I'm sorry I never thought to ask about it before."

"There's not much to ask about," she shrugged. "He… has issues. Who doesn't? I just try to support him where I can."

"It's a little more than your run-of-the-mill issues though, isn't it?" the dwarf asked, angling his head to look at her downcast face. "Lyrium… it does something to those knights."

"Usually turns them into self-righteous pricks," Hawke muttered.

"Hawke!" he snapped. "Cullen isn't, obviously… at least not a prick. But getting off the stuff… he tries to hide it in front of us, but it can't be easy to deal with on a daily basis."

"It… can be tough," Elsa acknowledged, "but what I deal with is nothing compared to what he has to endure. He is one of the gentlest people I've ever met… He never takes it out on anyone around him."

"You are worried though," Hawke stated.

"I am, but… it's not so bad. Demons they… they distort reality, don't they? Envy did the same thing."

"It might've amplified some things," the mage agreed, "but it didn't come up with it on its own."

"No… it didn't. But it's not something we need to discuss."

"Sterling… it might help."

"I'm sorry." She shook her head. "You can ask him about it yourselves when we see him again, if you want, but he trusts me… I can't discuss his private affairs behind his back."

"You don't have to discuss his affairs," Varric said, a little more stern than before, "But you can discuss how you are dealing with them, if that helps you."

"How do I do one without the other?"

"I… I'm not sure. But you can try, at least."

Elsa averted her eyes, fighting the painful constriction in her throat. The more they talked of this, the more she felt the weight of it in her heart, battling its way out from under her denial. She had nothing to complain about… Cullen was the one with the real issue. What did it say about her, if she couldn't even be there for him, or manage her own concerns without adding to his burden?

"I was trying to write to him just now," she said eventually, "I've been putting it off. I don't know how to tell him any of the things that happened since we've been gone."

"Like what?"

"Like… Training. Fighting." She involuntarily rolled her shoulder, trying to loosen up her injured arm. "Getting hurt."

"Because he can't deal with it?"

"I don't know. Maybe he can, but… I don't want to worry him while he's preparing for Adamant."

"He's pretty tough," Hawke said, eyebrow arched with appraisal. "Are you sure you're not coddling him a little? You two seem to have more in common than your underwhelming choice of curse words."

"She's right, Sterling," Varric said tentatively, "You should be able to be honest with him, you know?"

"I can."

"Have you?" Hawke inquired. "About how this affects the pair of you?"

"I have! We —"

She paused, thinking back on their conversations. They talked about a lot of things… but how often did they talk about how they were feeling? If anything, it seemed like it had decreased since they got together, despite them being closer overall. Perhaps because they were both happier than they were before. They asked each other, of course, multiple times every single day… but was that really where it usually ended? With an off-hand comment and a kiss or a hug to acknowledge each response? He was there for her when she was tired, upset about something, or stressed with work, as well as the other way around. But when it came to this… She couldn't recall a single time they'd discussed it. Instead, he brushed off the times he wasn't well and retreated within himself until he was better, while she swallowed down the small moments of doubt and discontent. She hadn't considered there might be something wrong with that. What closeness they had was still infinitely more than she'd ever had with anyone else in comparison. It's not like people around her had relationships that were any closer. In fact, she'd sometimes wondered if her parents ever saw each other at all outside of public events… She hadn't thought to expect more.

"Not about this in particular, perhaps," she muttered, "But… It's just small stuff, in the end. What's the point in making him feel bad? Besides, weren't you the one who expected me to be there for him?"

"What I said to you is not why you got together," Hawke said simply, "You could've supported him in other ways while he combats this thing. I'm not saying you shouldn't be in a relationship, but you can't forget yourself within it either. That's going to blow up eventually, no matter how much you care for him."

Elsa looked between them. Varric shrugged, conceding his friend's point. She didn't care much for their unsolicited advice, though she didn't doubt it came from a place of concern. Yet it was easy for them to say… harder to act on it when you were the one in the situation.

"Here's a thought," Varric said, "We're heading to the Exalted Plains next, right? Perhaps we can make a detour to meet the army for a night. Would be nicer to deliver your report in person, rather than send it by raven."

Hawke threw him a look, but didn't comment. Elsa considered the suggestion, her heart fluttering as she pictured surprising Cullen in a few days rather than wait for their planned reunion in the desert. He'd be thrilled, no doubt about it. They could have a night together and she —

She looked down at her arm, where the inflamed slash marked her fair skin. It would calm over time, as Varric's injuries had done over several weeks with Hawke's continued attentions. Those cuts were fine white lines now, hardly visible within his chest hair. Over the next few days however, hers would still look far more disconcerting.

"No," she sighed, disappointment overtaking the brief surge of excitement. "I don't think that's a good idea. I'll figure it out though… Thank you."

Hawke appeared to agree with this decision and nodded. Varric shifted a little in his seat, but didn't pursue the discussion any further. "Whatever you say, Sterling."

"I'm going to sleep," Elsa said and she emptied her mug. "We should clean out those quarries before we leave. It will be a while until the troops can establish a presence here."

"We'll take a day for rest," Hawke answered. "If that's alright with you."

"Agreed. Good night."

"G'night."

"Sleep tight, Sterling."

Elsa returned to the study and stared down on the unfinished letter. After another moment of consideration she then collected her supplies, carefully folding the sheet to store it away. She'd feel better soon enough, she told herself as she walked up the stairs and back into the bedroom. Her scar would be less visible once they'd meet, a badge of honour instead of a mistake. She'd tell him the accompanying tale and insist that he respond with awe and admiration, like she'd done when she asked him after his. She could show him her healing skills, without going into detail on how she'd practised them. She would have processed whatever jumble she had in her head for the moment and could show him she was fine.

_I'll be fine…_

_This is fine._

o - o - o

They continued their journey some days later, leaving the cold behind to chase further rumours of rifts. It didn't take long before their path crossed the Imperial Highway again, now lined with evidence of the Inquisition's army passing through — trampled grass, burned patches on the ground from extinguished campfires, and pulled up soil from tent hooks being driven into and subsequently removed from the ground. Even if she'd wanted to meet up with them, it was too late now. Their delay in taking back the quarries and resting in between had widened the gap between them. Judging from the tracks, they were several days ahead — the detour it required would take too long for it to make the decision sensible in any way.

She looked longingly at the road as they eventually left it behind once more, following their planned route to the north-west. Not much later, a black shape came speeding towards her. It swooped low over her head, then came down with a flutter of its wings. It was one of Leliana's better birds, large and completely black, except for a white patch on its chest. With a loud _caw_, the raven settled down on the back of her mount. It looked straight at her, reprimanding almost, and held out its leg until she'd untied the scroll it was carrying.

* * *

_Dear Elsa,_

_Thank you for your report and the work you've done. Please relay my thanks to the others as well — disrupting the templars' red lyrium production is a decisive victory and recruiting Ser Michel will be very beneficial to us. Well done._

_Since Leliana would have my head if I dared to suggest her bird lost your letter, I can only assume you chose not to include one. I am unsure why this would be the case, unless I have given you the impression before your departure that I do not wish to hear of your progress. Do you recall the first letter I ever wrote to you? Back then, I urged you not to keep any thoughts to yourself that cause you distress. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then. Given that, I probably should have repeated this wish before you left._

_You have puzzled me from the moment we met. On the one hand, you trigger all my protective instincts and I want nothing more than to preserve your innocence and shield you from harm. On the other, you are so strong and together that I need others to remind me you can be vulnerable and insecure as well. Whichever state you are in right now, know that you are not alone, even if we are apart. I do not mean to imply you cannot handle yourself… I know that you can. However, for my peace of mind, I would like to know how you are doing._

_While I miss you every night, I admit preparations and herding the army across Orlais have almost kept me too busy to reflect much on it. The extract continues to work well, though I prefer to sit together with you while making it. I look forward to being with you again. Until then, know that you are in my thoughts and in my heart._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

* * *

She read it and she read it again. The others stood some distance away, after pulling their horses to a stop once they noticed she'd fallen behind. They were looking at her now, heads angled with curiosity, as she tore her gaze away from the paper.

"Can we have an early break for lunch?" she asked. "I have a letter to write."


	40. Good Shepherd

The keep was in a frenzy, even more lively than it was on a usual day. Tomorrow morning, they would be off. Now was the time for all the last minute preparations, which always seemed to outweigh any that came before it in volume, no matter how well prepared the schedule. Wagons were loaded, equipment was cleaned and checked, and bags were packed. He wanted their exit from the castle to go smoothly, in order to leave the mountains behind as swiftly as possible. The season's weather conditions should be favourable once they would reach Orlais. Until they'd continue on to the Western Approach, there should be little to slow them down… in theory.

Cullen checked with Barris, then several of his lieutenants charged with overseeing the various aspects of the organisation. He continued on to his office, where a number of checklists in various stages of being completed awaited him on his desk. A messenger came in just as he crossed off several items, then added almost the same amount in new ones.

"Thank you," he said, taking the report from her.

A quick glance of it confirmed that Rylen had established a camp in the desert, but was experiencing difficulties in holding it. Another task got added to one of his lists, to tell him to not overextend his squadron until reinforcements arrived. It shouldn't be long now — many soldiers stationed around Orlais had already started the journey west ahead of the main force.

He didn't notice for a while that the messenger lingered in the doorway. When he finally looked back up from his desk, he was surprised to see her still standing there. She seemed similarly startled by the fact that she'd been noticed, though she must've known he'd do so eventually.

"Was there something else?"

"Ah," she said. "Yes… Lady Cassandra asked me to check on you, Commander."

He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Tell her I'm fine. Also, tell her… when I said to stop checking on me, I didn't mean to send others."

"You… really want me to say that?" she asked, grimacing at the mere thought.

He huffed a laugh. Her clear discomfort was enough to soften his ire… not that he was really all that irritated by the message to begin with. "Don't bother," he told her. "She wouldn't listen. Was that all?"

"Yes, ser," she affirmed, saluting.

"Carry on then."

He watched the messenger go and smiled to himself. The Seeker had checked on him periodically ever since he'd joined the Inquisition, but never so often as she had since getting back from her mission. Perhaps it was due to Elsa having gone, though it might just as well be that Cassandra was quite visibly shaken upon her return herself. Though she expressed her distress through sarcastic huffs and angry glares, there was a weariness to her he didn't fail to notice.

He'd taken her for a drink at the bar the following evening, where she'd softened her countenance eventually. He didn't know what to tell her about the Seekers or the information she'd uncovered about her Order… except that he believed she would lead them down a better path, if she chose to do so. She gave him a wistful smile in response and took another long draught from her drink.

"And how are you?" she asked.

"You mean, in general?" He let the beer swirl in his mug. "Or more specific than that?"

"I mean since she left. Where are you sleeping?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Perhaps is doesn't, except I can't imagine that broken tower helping your mood."

"I don't dislike it," he shrugged, "Especially now that it's warmer. I'm there for the moment… It doesn't feel right for me to be in her quarters without her."

"But you are alright?"

"I've… been better," he admitted, "but it doesn't impact my duties. The distraction is actually quite beneficial."

"Do you miss her?"

He raised an eyebrow. Were they really doing this?

"… Of course I do," he said quietly. "And I… haven't heard from her yet. I hope she's okay."

"She's been gone less than a week, hasn't she? Unless some Orlesian challenged her to a…" She searched the air for something plausible. "A… fashion battle… it is unlikely anything happened to her."

"Fashion battle?" he laughed. "That's the best you could think of?"

"Whatever," Cassandra huffed. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah…" Cullen sighed, looking deep into his beer. "I know… She's probably fine."

Despite his assurances that he was okay, she'd continued to look in on him over the following days. He'd told her to stop, then told her again. Then, apparently, she'd started sending others to do it for her. While his response — ranging between polite dismissal and annoyance — depended on his mood and what he was doing that moment, he didn't resent her for it. Far from. Several months ago, it made him uncomfortable. Now, he was simply grateful.

She wasn't the only one either. The day Elsa left, as he brought down his belongings from her room, he'd gone into his office to find a box of sweets on his desk. It was tied with an elegant purple ribbon, courtesy of Josephine. The Ambassador had also quickly made it a habit to invite him for an afternoon round of cards. While he couldn't always make the time, he made sure to drop by her office to thank her in person and stayed for a short chat whenever he did.

Lastly, Leliana found him in the courtyard the morning of his departure. He didn't see much of the Spymaster outside of meetings. She was usually in the rookery, managing her network. It was surprising to see her out at this hour, weaving her way towards him between the whinnying horses and soldiers milling about frantically to get into formation. On her shoulder sat a raven, black with a white feather on its breast.

"Commander." There was a slyness to her voice. It always made him wonder whether she was going to reveal some kind of secret she'd found out about him. Not that there was anything to be discovered. He seemed to be an open book to his colleagues… and to her, perhaps, most of all. She halted in front of him, the bird slightly swaying with her motions. "I'm glad I still caught you."

"You had time," he sighed, eyeing the disorder in the grounds. "It will be a while before we've cleared out of here."

"It will be odd with the keep so empty," she mused, looking around them.

"Any plans while we're away?"

"Do you see me as the proverbial mouse, dancing on the tables?" Leliana replied with a soft, sing-song laugh.

"That would make me the cat, I suppose?"

"I have heard people call you something to that effect," she said, nodding towards the helmet under his arm. "I assure you, Josephine and I will take full advantage of your absence."

"I don't doubt it… Do leave the walls standing, they took a lot of resources to restore," he chuckled, scratching his ear. "Was there something you needed?"

"Not exactly." She lifted her hand to the bird and it stepped from her shoulder onto her wrist. Then she held it out to him. He looked at the raven for a moment, then back to her, unsure what she was expecting. "It is yours," she explained.

His eyes widened in surprise. "Mine?"

"You took this one a while ago, did you not?"

"Well, I… borrowed it. It — it's not quite the same."

The Spymaster's brow quirked sceptically, but she smiled. "Elsa requested a bird to use before she left, but my best ones were out on deliveries when she asked." She gently petted the one sitting on her arm, stroking its breast with the back of her finger. "I figured it would be easier if this one was yours," she continued, giving him a look out of the corner of her eyes, "so you no longer need to borrow him."

"I — this one?" he asked, holding out his arm so she could transfer the bird to him. It was a beautiful animal, with alert eyes and the white patch on its chest giving it quite a special appearance. It had also delivered his long overdue letter to Mia faster than he'd thought possible. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Cullen." She smiled and inclined her head. "Maker watch over you."

"Thank you," he said again.

He'd been unsure what he could add to adequately respond to such a gift. She'd chuckled softly, amused by his befuddlement, and turned away. Later it occurred to him that perhaps, sometimes, no words were needed.

He hadn't lied about how he was doing… he really was quite alright. Surprisingly so. In between running around, checking the state of affairs, leading last minute training sessions, and having meetings, he had little time to think of anything else. Yet he didn't mind it. All of this was infinitely better than feeling useless in preparation of an Orlesian ball, or his primary occupation being the ever replenishing mountains of paperwork. Concerned as he still was about the upcoming battle, his worries were slowly pushed aside by a steady resolve to see his men through it as best he could. So he found himself unusually focused and calm until eventually, after a morning of chaos, he watched the rows of soldiers marching through the mountain pass ahead of him — for a number of them, quite possibly towards their death.

It took several hours to make camp the first time around. Though it went more smoothly with each following evening, it remained an exercise of his organisational skills. While his soldiers were a lot more willing than Orlesian nobility, there were a lot more of them to compensate for this. Cullen was exhausted by the time he lay down on a bedroll himself, in a tent he shared with Barris while they were travelling. He'd been hesitant to not sleep in private, but felt too awkward carrying around the extra equipment while everyone else had to compromise. Each night, he took his extract outside of camp and waited for the knight-commander to finish taking his lyrium. They didn't speak much once they retired, both of them eager to get some rest, but he doubted his avoidance went unnoticed. Yet Barris didn't comment. He simply gave him an understanding smile one night, after which they briefly discussed the route for the next day and each retreated to their own mental spaces. It had been a while, but he hadn't forgotten how. It was the closest thing to privacy most members of the Order ever got to experience.

He lay on his back, looking up at the canvas as he twisted his lucky coin between his fingers. Somewhere, not that far from where he was, she might be doing the same — lying in her camp, perhaps under the open sky, with one of her companions keeping watch… thinking of him. Pains lingered in his side and pulsed dully behind his temples, not as sharp as they were at other times, but stinging more once the day's concerns had been laid to rest. He missed her, but he hadn't planned on writing her, not unless she did. Although these days it felt like Elsa was the one he was fighting for, right now he owed his men his full attention.

Not that it was easy. His dreams did not get any worse than they already were, but lying awake once he'd escaped them was infinitely more agonising without her beside him. He also had a harder time distracting himself from the thoughts that swam to the surface in moments of quiet. Were they together, he might walk over to her and hold her close, breathing in her scent. Her voice would quiet those in his head, her touch soothe the aching of his body, her loving smile block the images flashing before his eyes. He longed for that feeling now, that sense of relief, while the pinching between his ribs kept him from falling sleep.

But perhaps even more than those things, he'd missed the possibility of hearing her laughter as he opened the door to Josephine's office. The teasing tone of her husky voice while she chatted with Varric. The shine in her eyes when she lit the torches in the war room. Her sly smile right before she revealed her hand in cards, ready to clean out his pockets and those of their friends. Moments where she wasn't specifically close to him at all, but where she seemed so in her element it was mesmerising.

She'd gone on her trip with a purpose, one that would cause her to do much more than light candles once it was over. Hawke was right… He had to let her grow. To let her have those moments, which only seemed to help her become a person he admired even more than he already did. Of course, part of him feared the day might come where she would find herself in a place she did not want him to follow… While the thought made his heart clench and the instinct to track her down and drag her back to his side flare up, he could never keep her from becoming who she was meant to be just to prevent that from happening. If he did, he'd be no different than her family had been. Moreover, and more importantly… he'd be no different than the person he was trying to leave behind.

When had the Champion become so profound? He supposed she'd met her share of people over her adventures and had learned a thing or two about relationships as she was pulled in to fix their messes. Or was it merely her endless confidence that made her appear like she had all the answers? Regardless, he didn't think she'd been wrong in her advice to him so far. Difficult as it was to admit there was no space for him on Elsa's current journey, he had begrudgingly accepted it in the days leading up to her departure. He then soon found that, similarly, there wasn't much of a place for her in his current situation either. Strangely… that seemed to be okay.

The raven arrived upon an evening about two weeks into their trip, amidst the chaos of the camp being pulled up around him. The bird looked dishevelled as it settled down beside him, its coat ruffled as if it had been plucked from the sky and roughly tossed back into it. It began to smooth out its feathers the moment he retrieved the scroll, then hopped off to find a place to rest.

The first document was her report, detailing their impressive takeover of a red templar stronghold in the southern mountains. It was difficult to believe that, only some months ago, Elsa had been terrified – frozen in place even – when they encountered them. Had she been so here, until she'd shut down her emotions to the point she could deal with the situation? He doubted it. The way she described the events were no different than her report of Crestwood — professional and detached. Yet unlike that time, she had not included a letter to elaborate on her personal experience.

Instead, he found a small scrap of paper. It seemed to have been ripped off another document at some point in time and, dirty and crumpled, had possibly been at the bottom of someone's bag or pocket for a while. He unrolled it and smoothed it out to find a scrawly handwriting he didn't recognise. As he read the words, he realised he'd never gotten a letter from Hawke before.

* * *

_Cullen — Hijacked Elsa's raven. It's tough out here, but she is doing well. Seems a bit homesick though, but doesn't want to worry you. Maybe drop her a line, would be good to keep her spirits up. Hope you're alright. Take care of yourself._

* * *

Elsa was more eloquent, but at least the Champion quickly got to the point. He wrestled down the pang of concern that had jumped into existence and went to find his writing utensils. Half an hour later, his raven was on its way with his message tied to its leg. It returned within two days, which meant she wasn't far behind them. The thought made him warm — a sensation that only intensified as his eyes went down her letter, drowning out everything else around him by the time he'd finished and started reading it again right away.

* * *

_Dear Cullen,_

_Of course I remember your letter. Upon my word, ser knight, to even ask such a question. However, it is good that you reminded me – thank you. If you will recall, you also complimented me on my aptitude with words in that correspondence. A very true observation and yet, strangely enough, I have found myself in the sudden position of not knowing what to say at all since I've been gone. Instead, I've had a piece of paper in my bag with your name on it, waiting for a message that didn't follow. At least not until now. Knowing this, perhaps you may be assured that while you haven't heard from me, like I had planned, you have been in my thoughts every day._

_Many things have happened that could potentially fill a letter on their own. Presumably it will be good that I went through them eventually, but unfortunately they are not all so easy or comfortable in the moment. I find myself suddenly very conscious of how relaying them to you, while I am still figuring them out myself, might cause you distress. It is the first time I've gone on a mission by myself since we became involved… I imagine that is why I did not have this problem before. Perhaps it is a silly notion and the times you were worried for me did not affect you as much as I might imagine. Nowadays, however, your well-being is often the first thing on my mind when I wake and the last before I sleep. Though I have the greatest admiration for your strength of character, a rare kind that I consider rooted in an endless reserve of kindness, it is difficult to ignore the times where the past continues to trouble you. This is in no way meant to be a criticism of you, and the possibility you might take it as such is one of the reasons I haven't expressed it before. It is simply that, were you to hear from me in such a moment, I fear it might have an adverse effect to the one I intend, which is for my communication to bring you comfort._

_Hawke suggested I am coddling you, a strange notion since I have relied on your courage and protection since I fell from the Fade. Varric simply told me I need to be honest. While I did not necessarily welcome their input, I suppose I cannot pick and choose when to accept their advice and when to ignore it. So far, although the path they have helped me go down is unconventional, I can't say they have led me astray. Although I could tell you many more things — and I will, when we meet next – I have decided I would like to be honest, and very much not-coddling, about the following for the moment:_

_I miss you. I miss watching you rummage around our quarters in the morning, looking for a shirt you've managed to misplace yet again, and somehow making yourself nearly late for your meetings in the process. For someone who takes such care of his armour, you show an incomprehensible disdain for clothing in general. It is fortunate that the view of you without it on compensates for the lost time we could spend in bed together instead._

_I miss catching myself thinking of you at the most inopportune moments, for example when I am entertaining visitors or negotiating trade agreements. While I am sure you won't regret it if I inadvertently offend one of our noble guests, my dear ox, I hope you'll see these distractions can potentially be quite detrimental to the Inquisition. You really are rather inconsiderate, being such perfect daydream material. _

_I miss our conversations – or other activities – in the middle of the night when we can't sleep, with the keep so quiet you'd almost think we're the only ones there, even if it means we're both tired and a little cranky come morning._

_While none of the above is a lie or even an exaggeration, I am not completely honest yet either. If this was all that has been on my mind, I would have contacted you days ago. Some things just do not easily allow themselves to be put into writing, or even to be told at all. Yet such things exist and I believe we should try to discuss them when we are together again, difficult as it may be. What I want you to know for the moment is that, more than anything else, I miss being able to look across a room and into your eyes, and know we're in this together. I know we still are and I will read your letter to remind me whenever I'm in doubt. But as good of a letter as it is, it does not compare to hearing it in your voice, seeing it on your face, and feeling it in your touch._

_I love you._

_With all my heart,_

_Elsa_


	41. Closure

_Dear Elsa,_

_Thank you for getting back to me, despite your reservations. Do not think too much of them. While I am sure they caught you by surprise, the fact that they exist is also understandable. I am just glad you rediscovered your talent for conversation and I will treasure the result._

_In case you didn't know, it brings a smile to my face whenever you refer to the tower as 'our' quarters. I still find it hard to consider it as such myself, especially in your absence, but I will try to revise that view to align it with yours, if you'll permit it. Has it occurred to you though, that the reason my shirts are never where I expect them to be, is that I do not have a cupboard or clothing rack there? Of course, this is putting aside the fact that you are usually the one to toss them into some corner or another at the start of our nightly 'activities'. However, I will overlook your slight on my tidiness, as I will do with the time where you hid my belongings on purpose to enjoy the view, as you call it, a bit longer. While I don't mean to be presumptuous, might I suggest we consider some rearrangements upon our return? Honestly, while I admit my reports can make themselves guilty of the same offence, your wardrobe has spread beyond its original confines like elfroot overtaking Skyhold's garden. This cranky ox wouldn't need much, just a corner for the haphazardly thrown about shirts to call their own._

_You may notice my ill-conceived attempts at charm to distract you from the fact that I haven't gotten to the heart of your letter yet. Hopefully I have diverted you enough to forgive the delay in my reply, as I needed a few days to collect my thoughts. Without further ado… here goes._

_I do understand what you are referring to – I suppose there are indeed things we have not discussed in much detail and perhaps enough time has passed that we should. Honestly, being with you has made me so happy that, even at the times I am less well, I do not want to acknowledge the existence of things that may be less than perfect. I neither feel there is much point in dredging up the past, nor do I want to poison what we have with what I carry with me from a time long before we met. The Order hardly encourages its members to process their experiences by talking about them. As you know, lyrium takes that role. Without it, there aren't many coping mechanisms to rely on and I have been left to figure out new ones for myself. However, it was foolish not to consider how it affects you._

_I believe that is all I can meaningfully say of the situation at present and in this form. I hope it suffices for now. Obviously it does not even begin to cover what must be playing out in your mind half the time. Contrary to the evidence I have of the opposite, part of me has been assuming you would share the things with me you wanted to, without me asking specifically. It was neglectful of me and I apologise, even if you may not want me to. You, I am sure, know better than most how some things are difficult to share when the other has not seen or experienced what you have. However, I will do my best to change that together with you, difficulties be damned, in the right place and time. Whatever issues we may encounter in the future – and we are likely to encounter our share – know that I am always willing to discuss them._

_I love you too._

_Yours completely,_

_Cullen_

* * *

Elsa had waited several days for his letter, wondering and worrying whether she'd been too frank in her own. She hadn't gone into detail too much, tried to bring the concerns she'd been ruminating on as delicately as she could… but it had been out there, on the paper, and she couldn't take it back as soon as she sent the raven back to him. Then the reply came… and she couldn't be more relieved.

She'd read it more often than she could count. If she closed her eyes, she could hear his voice recite it word for word, without even needing to consult the message itself. She could imagine where he'd smirk mischievously, smile in mild embarrassment, or a frown would come to line his already easily concerned forehead and his eyes would turn serious. Their previous letters, scarce as they were, had been more professional in nature — one exchange occurred when they barely knew each other and the other when she'd requested to meet him about the lyrium. Now, for the first time, she could see how he put the things that they'd usually discuss directly — and more — in writing. In spite of his self-deprecating comment, he was surprisingly good at it too.

It was surprising to hear he simply hadn't considered how some of his circumstances might affect her. On some level, it seemed like it should have been obvious. Yet she'd been around enough people — men and women… more often men — who, in varying degrees, seemed quite oblivious to how their actions might reflect on those around them without explicitly being told so. If she thought of it, in a way, she'd done the same to him. It had never occurred to her to offer him closet space, even though she saw him ferrying his belongings back and forth between his office and their room on a regular basis. She had assumed there was a logic to it — perhaps it made more sense for him to change elsewhere after training — and that he would put away the things he wanted to have in their room, without feeling like he couldn't. While, yes, it officially was her space, they had done nothing but share it since it had been made available to her… It was astonishing how even something as simple as that could potentially turn into an issue when it was left unaddressed.

In that way, she'd let her own concerns grow in her mind without realising it. It wasn't until her daily routine had changed and the demon had probed her mind that they had been brought to the surface. Perhaps she hadn't allowed herself to feel them for the same reason as he didn't want to discuss his past — they were happy, and she didn't want to admit that perhaps some aspects weren't ideal. If something bad happened between them, she simply wanted them to move past it as quickly as possible and go back to a place where things were good. Furthermore… she did not want to admit that dealing with his troubles was taxing on her, when of course they were far more burdensome on him. It wasn't easy to tell him such a thing, for it wasn't his fault, but him simply acknowledging that it was understandable for her to feel this way already made it seem easier to deal with in the future. Even if perhaps he wasn't aware of everything that went through her head on his own, and he didn't seem eager to discuss his issues, he seemed willing to listen. It shouldn't have surprised her, perhaps, but it did… and it felt hugely significant.

Much like it had been when she first went to the Hinterlands, his letter and the thoughts it sparked provided a welcome distraction from her everyday as they continued their journey into the Exalted Plains. While before Emprise du Lion she'd been absorbed in the excitement of what her magic education might bring, the exhausting ordeal in reclaiming it had left her less eager to continue their trip. Much more than before, with Cullen's letters folded away over her heart, she longed to be back in Skyhold. Hawke continued her training as soon as they were back on the road, in which they focused on managing her energy to not deplete herself unintentionally. The Champion seemed happy with her performance in the mountains, telling her multiple times that the templars had been tougher and more organised than anything she'd encountered on her way to the desert. It was unlike her to repeat herself in such a way — perhaps it was because she noticed her fatigue.

Elsa did not enjoy combat in the varying ways that Bull and the others did. Moreover, she became increasingly sure that she never would. But as they pressed on into the wasteland that the Orlesian civil war had left behind, she noticed how it did start to become a routine. The Freemen of the Dales were not nearly as collected as the red templars and the demons that were drawn to the battlefield did not compare to Imshael. The fights weren't easy exactly, but Elsa found their group falling into a reliable formation that rarely faltered. Hawke managed to control larger groups with her primordial spells, while Dorian debilitated more treacherous marks with his spirits and utilised the surrounding dead to his advantage. Elsa continued her efforts in protecting Bull, who whirled and cleaved his way through whatever might try to target her, while she imbued Varric's bolts and her own arrows with elemental alterations. Although she appreciated the Champion's insistence she was doing well, she found it much harder to enjoy the progress she was making than she had before. At first, every spell had felt like a victory, every manipulation of her mana something to celebrate. Now, even as her control continued to improve, it suddenly felt a lot more normal… and strangely inconsequential.

They encountered soldiers fighting for Celene and those loyal to Gaspard, neither aware of the fact that the war ended weeks ago in Halamshiral. Apparently, no one had bothered to inform them. Some of them were happy to hear the news, others refused to believe it. While the fighting had long been stalled with the dead rising up in response to the rifts in the area, they had nonetheless spent months among the stench of death and decay, battling disease and hunger through a lack of supplies, while they waited for an order by some higher-up who had neglected to send it. Suddenly, she could feel Cullen's disdain for the nobility and where it stemmed from much more clearly.

Of course, that was only part of it, for no war was complete without innocent people caught between its two sides. There were few locals left in the area, most of them having fled once the site became the epicentre of the war. Those who weren't so 'lucky' to leave behind their homes and have their lives uprooted… were mostly dead. Elsa's party rode through abandoned villages with broken buildings and burned out roofs, ransacked for supplies until nothing was left. A child's stuffed toy lay trampled on the ground, its once colourful body now the same chalky brown as its ravaged surroundings. Clouds of dust hovered in the air, stinging in their eyes and making it difficult to breathe.

They closed the rifts they'd come to find. In the process, they killed the Venatori roaming the countryside, fought the dead laying siege to the forts and defeated the demons that rose to stop them. The smell of burned flesh lingered in her nose for days to come. They collected letters from the fallen soldiers to bring to their families and received a ring from a dying chevalier to return to her Commander. They provided supplies to a local Dalish camp, cleansed one of their burial sites, and tracked down one of their missing people — a young man, only seventeen, impatient to prove himself and ready to go to extreme lengths to do it… He reminded her of Myca.

They did good work and she was getting better at it, but she did not feel energised or invigorated by the results they produced like she had before. People were grateful to the Inquisition, yes… but it always seemed like another problem was just around the corner, another foe to defeat, another attempt at disrupting the lives of as many as possible.

She'd felt sorry for herself at times since joining the Inquisition, when she didn't know who she was supposed to be or what was left of her previous self. She didn't do so now. She was fortunate, in a way. Even in her unusual predicament that continued to put her in danger, she was no less privileged than she had been before. She had the Inquisition behind her and now she was learning the skills needed to protect herself… unlike the people whose broken belongings lay scattered across the ground and whose bodies lined the streets.

Even if they had come earlier, these events still would have occurred. If the Chantry had not fallen, this war still would have happened, like the many more that would follow in its wake. They could solve the current issues, but new ones would rise eventually. And even if they fixed the mistakes that people had made, it wouldn't be long until someone made a decision out of self-gain that harmed those around them as a result. Celene and Briala seemed happy by the time they'd left the Winter Palace, but for how long? The elf had abandoned her people before to advance her own agenda, Celene had cast her aside once already. Perhaps Orlais would enjoy peace for some time to come… until it wouldn't. It was inevitable.

Elsa grew more quiet over the days they spent travelling the plains. It didn't go unnoticed by her companions, who tried to cheer her up as best they could. Yet when she told them what was on her mind, they had trouble talking her out of it. Worse, she seemed to be taking them down with her a little bit at a time as well. Varric and Dorian were the most resilient and suggested she focus on the immediate results of their efforts and the main issue at hand. She couldn't fix the world forever, but she could fix the things that she saw, and use her position to change things for the better where she could. She thanked them and did take their words to heart, even if she didn't feel them fully. Bull just looked at her, a little uncomfortable and perhaps wondering if she required reprogramming, then suggested they go kill the dragon they'd spotted some days ago. She declined, but at least it made her laugh. Finally there was Hawke, who was silent whenever they spoke of such things and made no attempt to comfort her. Instead, the Champion would look into the fire or up at the stars, her mind lost in her own thoughts. Somehow, Elsa felt that the mage understood her most of all, but that she hadn't yet figured out an answer to the questions she was asking either.

With the ravaged area free of rifts, they eventually made camp for the final night under a leafless tree, before continuing their journey to the desert. They'd go at it from the north, crossing through the Heartlands between Lake Celestine and the sea, in order to provide Rylen with support while they waited for the army to arrive. Elsa forced herself to be more positive that evening — disheartened as she felt with the world at present, it wasn't the fault of her companions that she did. Varric produced a bottle of spirit that he'd recovered from a hidden supply cache, which helped considerably in lightening her mood. They played cards and they sang songs and she read Cullen's letters again before she went to bed, wondering if he was reading hers.

She woke the next morning to a rough push in her side. Elsa opened her eyes, blinking against the sleep to find a familiar silhouette standing over her in the dark, prodding her with her foot.

"The fuck, Hawke?" she grunted, "It's not even light yet."

"Come on," the mage chuckled, "Get up. There's something I want you to see."

She sat up with a groan and rubbed her face with both hands. "What?"

"So cranky. You'll see when we get there."

"Get where?"

"Maker's ass, enough questions. Let's go."

The Champion walked away and halted at the edge of camp to wait for her. No one else was awake yet and the sun was still far from showing itself. The desolate fields were a pale blue under the night sky, the rocks clawing upwards spikes of onyx. A faint breeze rustled across, making the bare tree branches over their heads sway with a faint crackling sound. Elsa pulled herself to her feet with a sigh and grabbed her bow. Hawke gave her a quick glance over when she joined her, then turned to lead her into the hills.

They walked without speaking for some time, swerving between rock formations as they trekked through the valley. The sun gradually began to approach the horizon, turning their surroundings a faint purple over time. Elsa didn't feel like talking and, apparently, neither did the mage. While Elsa couldn't think of anything in this direction that would require their attention, Hawke's motions were no less purposeful than usual. There was no rift here, Elsa's mark would have alerted her to it. Nor was there anything in these hills that anyone they'd come across had asked them to look into. After nearly an hour, once they'd descended along a tricky path and Elsa nearly slipped on a loose rock, she broke the silence.

"Where are we going?"

Hawke didn't respond immediately. "I already told you. You'll see when we get there."

"Fine," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Can you at least tell me how far it is still?"

"Not far now. Just a little further."

Elsa stared at the back of the mage's head and resisted the urge to say something rude. Not that it would offend her. In fact, nothing seemed to delight the Champion more than when she was persuaded to drop her manners. Elsa could wonder at why this mattered to her so much, but she didn't feel like asking. Instead, she merely stomped along as light began to graze the bluffs, following the mage who still traversed the rough environment with a lot more ease than she could, until she suddenly pulled to a halt.

They were standing on a hilltop, with little to distinguish it from the environment besides its height and a single tree at its top. It wasn't unlike the one they'd camped underneath, its skeletal branches darkly silhouetted against the sky. The site gave view of the entire valley. To the east, the area they had come from and the wreckage of the war lying beyond. Smoke rose from behind a rock formation, not far from where they'd passed through the day before. Perhaps Celene's forces were still burning the bodies…

Elsa looked to Hawke, whose attention wasn't focused on the surrounding area. Instead, she looked at the ground below the tree, to a circular clearing in the grass. The surface was scorched black, marked by fire like the battlefield had been. The surrounding grass had begun a careful attempt at reclaiming it, but the young shoots had little luck gaining a foothold. It couldn't have been a campfire… it was too large. Elsa looked at the mage, waiting for an explanation. Hawke was observing her now, frowning as she readied herself to speak. When she did, her voice was as quiet as the barren land around them.

"This is where I burned their bodies."

Elsa stared at her, then at the patch of land. She swallowed. "… Whose bodies?"

"The red templars I came across," Hawke replied, "When I went to scout the Western Approach…. The group that had your brother."

As silent as the world had been before, in that moment it came to a halt. She no longer heard the breeze and even the sunrise seemed to pause as she stood on the slope with Hawke, looking down on the charred ring below the lonesome tree…

Elsa slowly sank to her knees and rested her hands on the ground, feeling the cracks in the dried up soil. Hawke remained where she was for a moment, then stepped back and sat down with her back leaning against the side of the tree. She didn't speak and Elsa knew she wouldn't until she did. Elsa waited herself, waited for the wave of emotion tearing itself free, waited for her heart to break all over again, and waited for the tears to start flowing.

Except… they didn't.

"Why did you bring me here?"

Hawke turned her head slightly, looking at her from the corner of her eye. "Because I thought it might help."

"Help with what?"

The mage let her head rest against the tree. "You haven't asked me about him, not after that night in the chapel," she said, looking up at the sky. "Yet you kept those letters we found in the mountains and you're clearly preoccupied. I assume, among other things, you've been thinking about that wounded templar we found in the keep… right?"

They'd come across the man after defeating Imshael. He'd been heavily wounded and close to death. His corruption was significant, but not as bad as some of the others. With his last breath, he'd told them the demon offered to remove the red lyrium, like it had offered to do for Cullen, but that the price was too high. Until then, most of the depraved templars seemed incapable of rational thought by the time they'd come across them. Yet, this one was just a person. One who wanted out, but found himself trapped before he had realised it had happened. A normal person. A person like Myca.

"Yes," Elsa admitted, "I have."

"Then, isn't there anything else you wish to know?"

"I… I don't know if I do."

"That's fair," Hawke murmured. "I can't answer all questions you may have… and I won't tell you anything you don't want to know. But I thought I should give you the opportunity to make the decision."

Her throat felt constricted, stinging painfully, like she'd swallowed broken glass. "… Would you want to know? Considering what we found?"

The mage thought, her frown deepening the shadows on her face. "Perhaps not…" she said eventually. "I sometimes wish I hadn't seen some of the things I have, but… I think I'd rather know than to keep wondering. Rarely, the things we imagine are as bad as the truth."

"What… what if they are?"

"Even then," Hawke said quietly, "I think it's still better to be sure than to live in denial, in the end."

They sat in silence. She wasn't surprised the Champion would face a painful truth head-on, but she didn't feel so courageous. Hawke took a deep breath, the guard that protected her throat rising on her chest. Her expression was pensive, her eyes miles away. The last time she'd looked like this, the dark had shielded her face from scrutiny. Now, the weight of her past came rising to the surface, no longer hidden behind teasing smirks or challenging grins.

"Are you… talking about your sister?"

Her brow rose. "No," she said, her voice sounding distant, "Her death was tragic, but mostly because it came far too early. The amount of times I should have been dead, yet I'm still here…" She made a _tch_-like sound through gritted teeth and shook her head. "It was a darkspawn that got her — an ogre, when we were fleeing the Blight. She charged in before I could. It grabbed her and… that was that. It was shocking, of course, most of all for my mother… to see your child die like that in front of you. And yet, it could have been far more gruesome."

"… I'm sorry," Elsa said quietly.

"It's been years," she said, like she had the first time her sister had come up in conversation. Even more so now than back then, Elsa could hear the response was a practised, rather than a sincere one. She wondered how often the mage had repeated those words over the years, attempting to convince herself that it was alright to stop grieving.

"I was referring to my mother," Hawke continued, her gaze still focused on the sky. The sun was rising behind her, the first rays of sunlight falling on her shoulders and neck and illuminating her features from below. The most expressive part of her face, her sharp eyes and defined brows, remained dark and clouded in contrast.

"… What happened? That is, if you don't —"

"A madmen got to her." Sharp lines formed in her cheeks with the clenching of her jaw. "Took her from right under my nose, while I was _so busy_ running around the city, helping people, earning coin. When I found her, it was too late." Her words came fast, spilling over her lips like water running from a broken cask. "He was a necromancer — chasing after the memory of his dead wife. The only reason he targeted my mother, was that she looked like her."

Elsa stared at her and was suddenly quite sure she didn't want to hear more. Varric had not included this part of her history in his book, seemingly for good reason. She wasn't sure what disturbed her more: how the story might continue or the fact that, for the first time, the indomitable Hawke seemed close to breaking. It wasn't supposed to be like that… it felt wrong, and it frightened her.

Hawke rallied herself not a moment after Elsa had this thought, shedding the darkness with a shake of her head. "She died in my arms," she finished, "or what was left of her. I count myself lucky he wanted her face for his lunacy… it allowed me to say goodbye. I will never forgive myself for letting it happen, but it would be worse if I didn't have that moment."

Elsa swallowed away the tears welling in her eyes. She chided herself for having them — this wasn't her loss, it was that of the Champion, and her crying over it wasn't going to make her feel any better. Yet the emotion on the mage's face hit her harder than her own at the thought of Myca's life ending somewhere in these hills. Somehow, the hurt in her expression felt more real than the scorched ground beneath Elsa's own knees.

"It's alright," Hawke said softly, "I've shed my fair share… Then I turned it off. If not for the people around me, I might not ever have opened up again."

"Varric?"

"Mostly, and Fenris. You know…" She smirked, restoring a little of her attitude. "My beau. You've got some good people around you, you know? It's the most important thing there is."

"I know," Elsa nodded, "I am lucky."

"Well… let's not get carried away. Let's say that in that area, you are."

Elsa smiled at her, then let her gaze drop to the ground. "I… Thank you. For bringing me here and… for sharing. But I'm not sure what you can tell me." She let her hand trace across the bits of grass sticking out from the soil. "You… can't tell me how they convinced him to leave home. When he started taking it… if he took it willingly or if they replaced his lyrium over time. Whether he questioned his mission… or if he tried to get away."

"You're right," Hawke agreed, "I can't."

"So… what could you tell me that makes it better?" she asked. "He's gone… and I'll never see him again. I can't even make myself believe it, not really. All I can do is imagine how tortured he must have been until you put him out of his misery."

"I can't make it better… it sucks. But I can tell you how it ended, so you can at least stop imagining that part."

She bit her lip. Then, with more effort than she ever felt she'd spent on anything, she nodded.

Hawke inclined her head. Her eyes flitted back and forth as she searched her memory, or perhaps for the right words. "There were four of them," she said eventually, looking up at the horizon. "Various stages, but most like the ones we saw in the quarries — fully corrupted, but not very deformed yet. From the papers I found on them, they were instigating more conflict between the two armies."

Elsa could see them in her mind's eye — in full armour glowing red, walking across the war-torn fields, assessing the damage and considering how to add to the chaos and destruction. He might've had a lieutenant or a captain in that squad that he followed. How far gone must he have been to be involved in the madness here? She could make excuses for the knights in the quarries, if she tried. Until they started using people for their production, it might all have seemed harmless enough while they were led to believe in the power of the crystal. Out here, stoking the fire between the Orlesians… if he had any control over his own mind at all, it was impossible to imagine he could have considered that a rightful cause.

"Stroud and I encountered them as we were following the river to Lake Celestine," Hawke continued, indicating a point downhill with the tip of her staff. "We were packing up our camp when they noticed us. Considering what's going on in the desert, I imagine Stroud's armour must have piqued their interest. There were two warriors, a rogue, and an archer."

"Myca was never great with a bow," Elsa said quietly, "It annoyed him that I was the better shot when we were young. He became very proficient with a short sword and daggers once he joined the Order. He was shorter than his brothers… more dexterous."

"I found the amulet on the rogue," Hawke confirmed. "He was a skilled fighter. He gave Stroud a hard time, then tried to get behind me. I caught him in my barrier and pushed him back. He was dazed from the blast when I struck him with the blade on my staff… It was a clean hit."

Hawke paused and Elsa could feel her eyes settle upon her. She took a long breath to steady herself. When she met her gaze, it fixed her in place, boring into her to ensure the arrival of each following word. "We brought them here," the mage said quietly, gesturing at the desolate circle with a delicate turn of her wrist, "It was just after dawn, like now, when the wind picked up."

She looked away from the wreckage of the war and towards the west. Elsa followed her example. For a moment, everything was still… until a warm current began to blow against the back of her head. It picked up strands of her hair, causing them to drift over her shoulders and lightly kiss the sides of her face. She looked across the flowing expanse below, and watched it gradually become lit with the incandescence of the rising sun making its way over the hills. A sea of soft yellows and sage greens that waved in the wind, interrupted only by islands of warm sandy stone and a jewel-blue stream that shone like glitter on the surface.

Hawke's voice was faraway — ethereal almost — reverberating in the quiet like a prayer spoken in a place of worship. "Their ashes scattered across these plains," she said, her eyes studying the vista, "The war had only just come to a halt… this area was a desert when we passed through."

Down below, a halla emerged from a small group of trees. It poked its head out from the shrubbery, carefully assessing its surroundings. When all appeared quiet, it started moving towards the river to drink. More of them followed behind, gracefully stepping through the rippling grass. Their white fur, beaded with droplets of dew, shimmered like stars.

One of them stood out among the others. Slightly taller than the rest of the herd, its coat was a soft amber. It watched over its family as they moved ahead, its slender legs submerged in the undergrowth and its gentle eyes alert. Then it turned its head and, for a long moment, looked straight at them. Its antlers gleamed gold, like a secret treasure hidden from discovery throughout the ages.

"This is how I remind myself," Hawke continued gently, "However long the night feels, dawn is always on the rise. No matter how lousy people treat it, the world finds a way to heal. Whatever bad comes crashing down, something good can come of it… if given the chance."

The halla turned from the river and began to graze in the wind-swept meadow. A flock of birds took flight at their approach, chirping with cheer as they soared through the sky. All around them, as the day slowly wakened to the summer's warmth, signs of life began to emerge in the golden grasslands that were Myca's resting place.

Silent tears rolled down Elsa's face, but she no longer made an effort to restrain them. She looked at the mage, who now sat fully in the sun — her ivory face glowing softly and her raven hair stirring in the breeze.

"Thank you," Elsa whispered, "for giving me one."

Hawke turned her head and smiled warmly, with a pride that went beyond that of mentor and student. "You'll be alright," was the only thing she said and, in that moment, Elsa believed it.


	42. Reunion

**Mildly NSFW**

* * *

_Dear Cullen,_

_The wardrobe in question would like to extend its sincerest apologies for taking over all available cupboard space and not leaving any room for the poor shirts that get so irresponsibly cast aside by owner of said wardrobe. Please do not hold it against the clothes — they are largely construed of Orlesian fabric and therefore prone to be expansionist, self-involved and inconsiderate of the needs of other apparel. Their owner will take action immediately upon return to Skyhold and curb their reign of the room, which is very much shared territory. While she is not Orlesian herself, Free Marchers are not much used to sharing space either… Forgive her for not considering Ferelden might like to make more permanent additions. However, please rest assured that she welcomes any desired changes wholeheartedly._

_… Too much? I figured it was easier to continue in the vein of attempted charm, rather than delve back into serious business while this is likely our last communication before our meeting in the desert. Your words have brought me much joy since receiving them (something to note: self-deprecation, however incorrect, adds to your charm), and I hope these have that same effect on you._

_Thank you for listening, and for being willing to talk once the time is right. It will not be before Adamant, I'm sure — I have very different things in mind for what I'd like to do when we meet. It already brings me comfort that I could share my concerns with you… Perhaps that is even enough. For now, know that I am doing quite well, despite how taxing this trip has been. However, I also cannot wait to see you again._

_Until soon, love. I'll be waiting for you._

_Elsa_

* * *

After several weeks of travel, Cullen finally led the army through the ever drier terrain, until eventually the grass could no longer sustain itself and was instead replaced with an endless ocean of sand. The sun gained in strength with each passing day, beating down upon their heads and causing sweat to soak the layers under their armour. He was forced to shorten their days of marching and needed to allow a break when the sun was at its highest underneath quickly erected stretches of canvas. After two days of this, he changed the schedule — starting their trip well before dawn in order to rest during the day and continue the trip at night. He counted his blessings that any of the dangerous wildlife he'd heard Rylen mention seemed to be scared off by the size of their forces. Besides the weather conditions, they fortunately did not experience anything else to slow their progress.

After another week, they finally reached Rylen's outpost, though the knight-captain was far from alone. The sappers that Josephine had arranged stood lined up below a high rock formation, shielded from the harsh environment as best they could be until they were needed. A cluster of tents had been established around them, sporting various colours and showing the heraldry of a number of Orlesian houses. For all his scepticism, it seemed like Josephine's and Elsa's efforts in building those relationships had not gone to waste.

His lieutenants started going through the now familiar motions as soon as they dismounted, each of them beginning their own set of tasks to set up camp as efficiently as possible. Cullen himself walked between the soldiers running up and down to draw supplies from the carts, searching for the one that carried his documents. Rylen came up to him soon after he'd found it and helped him pull out the table and scrolls he needed to work.

"Good to see you again, Cullen," he said, carrying the tabletop over to the place where Cullen put down the saw horses. "I trust you've been well."

"Likewise, Rylen… I'll be better once I know what we're up against." In the aftermath of Kirkwall's destruction, neither had felt the need to address the other by title. Though the junior officers had taken to calling him Commander after Meredith's demise, their rank was the same and what they commanded was little more than a few dozen knights. Even though he outranked him since offering him a place in the Inquisition, their shared experience made it unnecessary to enforce the distinction. "What's been going on out here?"

"It's pretty batty," Rylen replied, his accent thick with sarcasm, "Vicious wildlife, darkspawn, Venatori and whomever they hired to do their dirty work… a dragon too supposedly, somewhere. Harding has had a hard time scouting much further ahead, though the Inquisitor's team has helped since they arrived. Very little sign of Wardens in all of it though, strangely enough."

He ignored the impulse of inquiring after Elsa, forcing his mind on the task at hand. "Any sign of them at all? Demons?"

"Nothing of the sort," Rylen said, shaking his head. "Weird sounds at night sometimes, but nothing rushing out of the gates as of yet."

"We'll take that as a good sign, I suppose," Cullen sighed, spreading the plans of Adamant out on the table. "Perhaps we're lucky."

"Wouldn't be the first time we were," Rylen smirked, "Andraste may still be watching over us yet."

"Let's hope she continues to do so for another day, at least." Cullen pinned down the corners of the scroll, then shook out the bag of tokens to start marking his squads and the siege equipment. "Anything else from the scouts that may be of use?"

Rylen didn't reply immediately. Cullen looked up, finding him staring at some point behind him.

"Rylen?"

"Not really." He stepped back with a grin. "Nothing that can't wait a bit, anyway."

"What?"

He turned around, only to barely register a bush of silver hair before she jumped him. His arms wrapped her in a reflex, pulling her against him as her thighs clamped down on his hips. She smelled differently than she had back in Skyhold, where she was usually freshly bathed and wore some kind of perfume. Her natural scent was deeper now, a sweetness mixed with the musk of leather and horses. Lingering within was the spice of her mana, closer to the surface than ever. The whole made him slightly lightheaded, alleviating any ache lingering in his mind.

Elsa pulled back to kiss him, not bothered in the slightest by the soldiers milling around them. Her grip on his waist loosened as she did and he lowered her to the ground, his fingers digging themselves into her back to draw her in as deeply as he could. Though a small voice in the back of his head told him his thoughts should be on the battle before them, he refused to deny himself the moment. She was familiar yet different, comforting yet exhilarating… He might've dragged her off to someplace outside of camp right there and then, if she hadn't stopped in time.

She broke away after a while, her eyes shimmering with emotion as she held his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs along his scruff. He pressed his forehead against hers, exhaling a long and heavy breath.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hello there. That's quite a greeting."

"I thought it might be good for morale… I've missed you."

"Me too…" He pulled her closer by her waist and kissed her again. His internal voice spoke up once more when he did, louder this time. He sighed, letting out a small, frustrated growl. She chuckled softly… how he'd longed for that sound. "Whose morale?" he said eventually, willing himself to loosen his grip on her a little. "Mine or that of our audience?"

She glanced around. "We are on display, aren't we? Should we be professional?"

"That might be better. We've got a war to fight, you know?"

"Good that you remind me. Alright then."

He fought the urge to grab her when she stepped away. One of her hands gave him a firm pat on the shoulder before she removed them and clasped both behind her back.

"Commander," she said curtly, with a short nod of her head. Her hair, a little longer again than when he last saw her, glistened in the sun.

"… Inquisitor." He kept his face neutral as he mirrored the gesture, struggling to keep it so once he saw the corner of her mouth quiver with a smile.

"Report," Elsa ordered, looking around the camp.

"Yes, Inquisitor." He gestured to the frenzy before them. "Your whole army is here, all men accounted for. No issues on the road."

"Good, good," she nodded, "Status?"

He took a moment to consider his move. "Hot," he said seriously, "and exceedingly sweaty."

She bit her lip to constrain her laughter. "… Is that so?" she said in a thin voice. "How about yourself? … Hot?"

"Very."

"Sweaty?"

"Not nearly enough. Your personal attentions will be required, Inquisitor."

Elsa made a choked sound, nodding as she averted her eyes. "I see. Very well." She rallied herself with a shake of her head. "I will get on that as soon as possible, Commander," she said, her voice steady once again. "First, however, I must continue my greetings to the rest of the army. I have missed them so."

"In… that same manner, Inquisitor?"

"As I said, it would be good for morale."

He narrowed his eyes, unable to restrict the smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth. "That's a bluff I will call."

"Don't be so sure." Rylen hadn't gone far and the report he was busying himself with seemed little more than a pretence for actual work. Cullen wished he'd stayed out of it a bit longer, though he was undoubtedly making the responsible decision in forcing him to continue their meeting. "She greeted me in the same way when she arrived," he grinned.

"Knight-Captain!" Elsa gasped. "… You promised you wouldn't tell."

Though Cullen felt sure enough there was no truth to their skit, he was nonetheless surprised by this sudden banter between them. Rylen had easy manners, more so than he did — apparently spending a few days together in the desert was enough to put her at ease around him.

"Get over here," he murmured, taking her hand to spin her back into his arms. She curled into him, moaning softly as she parted her lips for his. There was no resistance, no doubt — only pure affection with which she met him and gave herself to his touch. He sighed in relief as he released her. "You greet other people like that?" he whispered, stroking his nose against hers.

"Not exactly," she breathed, "None greet me back as well as you do."

"Inquisitor?"

Cullen glanced in the direction of the disruption to see her party standing some distance behind her, looking at them with self-satisfied expressions.

"Might you consider dislodging your face from the Commander's?" Dorian quipped, "So that we may greet him too?"

Her hands stroked down his chest and lingered in his for a moment before she turned around to face the others. He greeted the group — shaking hands with Bull and Varric and exchanging a brief hug with the mages — noticing how, despite Elsa's presence dominating theirs, he was decidedly happy to see them as well.

"You doing alright, Curly?"

"Better now," he told the dwarf, "Even more after we win tomorrow."

"I like that attitude," Hawke smirked. "What's our plan?"

"We'll finish setting up camp first," he replied, nodding towards the activity around them, "and I'll need to touch base with our allies. Tactical meeting at sundown, this location."

The Champion acknowledged the time, then urged the others to let him get to work. They wished him luck and turned away. Elsa stayed behind, holding his hand.

"Anything I can do?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Not in the moment." He cupped her chin and ran his thumb over her lips. "Just… try to not be too distracting."

"I'll stick my head in the sand somewhere," she laughed. "We can be together tonight though… right?"

"We will be, if I have to assault that keep by myself to make it happen."

"Well, don't do that… Sounds like it would take a while. I don't want to wait that long."

"Don't go too far then," he said softly, "As soon as the night shift begins, I'm yours."

She purred lightly, gripping the collar of his shirt as she kissed him one last time. He allowed himself a long look of her as she walked away. Her hips, tightly hugged by her travel outfit, swayed with each step she took on the uneven terrain, more noticeably so than when she wore one of her dresses in Skyhold. His heart thumped rapidly when she turned back with a mischievous smile, biting her bottom lip before she disappeared amidst the half-finished tents. He turned away with a sigh and refocused his thoughts on the work ahead.

"Ready to continue?" Rylen asked, arms folded and expending no effort whatsoever in containing his grin.

"Ready," Cullen chuckled, "Let's get this over with."

o - o - o

By sundown, the command tent had been erected around his makeshift war table and the necessary people filed in for the day's final meeting. Elsa and her team, Hawke and Stroud, Cassandra, Lady Vivienne — representing the mages that had joined them over time — as well as Rylen and Barris. Closing the line was the Captain of Lady Seryl's guard, in charge of her siege equipment and representative for the Orlesian soldiers.

Though they were largely aware of the general plan already, he didn't want to risk any detail or last minute decisions getting lost in the shuffle of the day. He glanced around, his eyes briefly lingering on Elsa. She was chatting with Bull, who had to stoop down under the canvas roof to not tear it apart. Her eyes shimmered in the light of the lantern dangling above their heads. Cullen was glad she'd stayed true to her word and kept her distance over the day… she was far too distracting. He pushed away the other thoughts springing up in his mind, telling himself to be patient a little longer, and cleared his throat.

"Thank you for coming," he began. "This meeting will be brief. We just need to confirm the specifics of tomorrow's events."

He gestured to the map, causing the group to inch a little closer.

"We begin before dawn. It is unlikely to give us any element of surprise, but at least we'll do what we can to beat the heat of the day. Our focus will be here." He indicated three areas along the walls and the main gate. "While our soldiers try to gain a foothold on the battlements, another platoon will storm the door. With a bit of luck," he continued, pushing the various tokens in the proper positions, "the trebuchets will create further openings for the army to get through and provide cover fire for the men."

"Our main goal…" He hesitated briefly as he twisted another figurine in his hand. "Our main goal is for the Inquisitor to reach Warden-Commander Clarel and convince her to stop this madness, if at all possible."

It was the part of the plan he liked the least. He'd turned it over in his head time and again over the past month. Leliana had gone over Adamant's layout with him before he left and he had continued to do so on the road, searching for an alternative. Yet he'd come to the same conclusion each time. If there was an army of demons awaiting them inside, the best they could do was utilise the choke points in carving Elsa a path towards the inner keep. It had to be her — even if Cassandra would be with her, no one held as much sway with outsiders as the Inquisitor did herself. If there was any sense left in the Wardens at all, she was the most likely to appeal to it.

"We're ready."

He looked up from the map. Elsa's jaw was set, her expression resolute. He wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and hold her, but he settled for a nod instead. She inclined her head in response, after which he placed the token of her party behind one indicating the battering ram. A heavy silence pressed down on the tent once he did, with no one seemingly quite sure how to lift it.

"Do you wish for the mages to protect the soldiers scaling the wall or operating the battering ram, Commander?" Madame de Fer asked, cutting through the tension.

"The wall, Lady Vivienne," Cullen replied, casting her a grateful smile. "While the trebuchets might give us an opening, whatever your people can do to shield those on the ladders will be crucial in their success. If we don't take those walls, breaching the gate won't do us much good."

"We can protect the ones taking the door," Elsa suggested, then looked to the other mages at her side. "Right?"

"You two certainly can," Hawke confirmed. "Where do you want me, Cullen? The soldiers on the ladders can probably use some fire power to cut through whatever is waiting for them up there."

He'd considered this, discussed it briefly with her during the day. If the Wardens had raised their army of demons, the resistance his men were facing would be immense. Hawke, with her aggressive style and highly destructive elemental skills, was one of the best suited to provide their forces with support, but… he didn't want her away from Elsa's side. Not in this fight.

"Stick with your team," he told her. "You've all grown accustomed to your formation over the past weeks, haven't you? Better you stick with it."

Hawke's eyes narrowed a little, but she nodded. Elsa herself seemed a little relieved at this decision, though she still didn't look as scared as he'd expected her too. In fact, she seemed quite fired up. It was different than she had been before she left, when discussing the battle made her eyes go wide in anticipation and she hadn't gotten involved with specifics at all… He briefly wondered in what other ways she had changed.

"Per your order, we have put together mixed squads, Commander," Barris reported, nodding towards Rylen and the Orlesian captain. "We won't put the Inquisition's soldiers, or our allies, at unnecessary risk. Under the protection of Lady Vivienne's group, the templars will make short work of whatever demons might await us."

"Very well," Cullen replied. "Lady Vivienne, any mages at your disposal more prone to offence than defence, I suggest they join these units. The rest should remain out of firing range where possible."

"I have a few that come to mind."

"Good. Once we take the walls and get that gate open, we should concentrate our efforts here." He indicated the relevant points where they could delay the opposing forces. "Spare any Wardens that seem ready to abandon Clarel, but don't take unnecessary risks. Once the Inquisitor's party is successful, they will give the signal. When you see the flare, focus on any demons still around and try to retreat. We'll regroup and go from there. All clear?"

Nods and affirmative murmurs sounded around him.

"Then we will gather here," he finished, drawing a line on the map and shuffling the tokens accordingly, "Relay the final instructions to your units and, until then, I suggest you all get some rest. Any questions?"

A few more details were discussed, but soon there was little left to say beyond well wishes for the morning and good-nights. Cullen shook hands with Rylen and Barris, thanking them in advance for their efforts, then checked a few more details with Madame de Fer and the Orlesian captain. Eventually all people had cleared out, scattering through the camp towards their various sleeping places. He watched his friends — clearly visible among the tents with Bull's hulking silhouette in their middle — settle down next to a campfire, where Varric seemed to pull a bottle from his bag. On any other night he'd join them, but tonight there was only one person he wanted to be with.

Elsa had stayed behind with him. She stood by the table, looking down on the result of the meeting. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as her eyes swept the map. Cullen watched her, wondering what was going through her head. Though part of him continued to object to the plan they had just agreed on, she had seemed confident. He reminded himself that she'd have her team, as well as Hawke. The Champion had kept her safe so far… he hoped she could keep the streak going.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She looked up. "Yes… a little nervous, I suppose, though it doesn't look much more daunting than the red templar base."

He went to stand beside her, looking down on the map as well. "Was it similar in size?"

"Hard to say…" She cocked her head to the side, assessing the floor plan. "I'd feel more at ease if we could scout the place out better, get an idea of what's inside there. The templars had giants."

"Giants?"

"Yeah, big ones with tusks."

"_Big_ giants… Perish the thought."

"I know, right?" she chuckled, realigning one of the tokens on the map. "I was amazed as well."

He stroked back a lock of her hair, noticing a line on her skin around the edge of her armour. She didn't appear to bronze quickly. At a first glance, out in the sunlight, she'd hardly seemed tan at all. But what she had gained during her travels was much more apparent in contrast to the unexposed skin. He ran a finger along the border, bringing out her mischievous smile from before.

"Can I help you get more comfortable?" he asked softly, tracing the edge of her ear with his mouth.

"Please…" she purred, shivering, "I've been waiting for you to do so."

"Apologies for the delay, my lady." He let his hand trail to her back, assessing the fastenings of her outfit. "Tell me… what else did you see out there?"

She exhaled with a huff, tossing up another strand of hair that had fallen over her face. It seemed a lot more unruly shorter… There was something strangely tantalising about it.

"How to even begin answering that…" she murmured. "Not a lot of good, to be honest. The templars, the war… a mess from start to end. Oh, that reminds me," she said, suddenly looking up and disrupting his plan of bending down to kiss her. He caught her scent as she turned her head, sending his pulse into overdrive. "We'll need to dispatch troops to Sahrnia once we're done here, and send a detachment to collect their local leader."

"Noted," he murmured, briefly wondering if he'd remember later. His mind was wholly on other things, things he'd forced to the background ever since they'd seen each other in the early afternoon. He turned her towards him, guiding her by her waist, and leaned in. She sighed deeply when he let his hands run down to her backside and kissed her neck.

"Are we done talking?" she asked.

"No, keep going… I'll just be over here instead."

"Alright…" she laughed softly, grasping his upper arms as he sucked on the spot below her ear. "What do you want to hear about?"

He unfastened her bracers, lifting each hand to his mouth to kiss her fingers as he did. Her eyes trailed his and she licked her lips, her breath quivering in her chest. "What did you learn?" he asked in a low voice, directing his attention to the layer keeping him away from her upper body.

"Healing… mostly," she said, her words interspersed with soft gasps as he tore on the laces of her bodice with one hand. His other slipped underneath as soon as he had an opening. "Barriers, and — ah… and element— elemental… for my… arrows…"

"Sounds good… no necromancy then?"

"No," she laughed breathlessly, "I decided — ah… Maker's breath, Cullen… I decided… against it."

He bent low, pushing the armour from her shoulders as he did. The shirt she wore underneath was easily torn aside, revealing her breasts. No longer covered by the silver veil, they were fully visible, her small nipples firm from his touch. He took one in his mouth and she closed her eyes, bracing herself against the table as her fingers curled in his hair. He grinned, flicking his tongue to make her drop her head back with a soft groan. However she might have changed, that at least had not. Yet once he let go, she shifted a little and looked away, seemingly resisting the urge to cover herself.

Cullen reached for his cloak and pulled it around her. It easily fell over her chest, covering what her hair had done before it.

"Thank you," she said gently, smiling as she pulled it closer. "I'm not sure why… I feel a bit embarrassed. Maybe because it's been a while."

"I thought maybe because you're standing in a tent, surrounded by soldiers."

Her eyes grew wide. "Maker above," she whispered, looking at the canvas walls, "thanks for putting that image in my head… I hadn't even thought of that."

"I'm sorry," he laughed, stroking her arms. "I figured you of all people would be aware we need to be quiet… What's that?" he added, lifting her arm by the elbow. There was an unevenness to her skin that hadn't been there before… Before, she'd been flawless.

"Ah…" A blush rushed to her cheekbones. "I, eh… I got injured."

"Injured?" What thoughts he'd had before of undressing her further were cast aside in an instant. Instead, he turned her towards the light so he could see. A jagged line cut down the length of her upper arm, starting in the middle and curving towards her elbow, where it ended in a sharp corner. "What happened?"

"… One of the red templars. He got the jump on us, hit me before we could act." She shuffled a little uneasily from one foot to the other. "I healed it myself," she added, looking up with a faint hope flickering on her face.

Cullen stared at her, then took a deep breath as he closed his eyes. "That's… good. I'm glad that you're okay." He opened them again and assessed the scar a bit longer. It would continue to fade, though the skin had been split apart too violently for it to ever disappear completely. "You didn't write me about this," he said, a little more accusingly than he'd meant to.

"I know," she said quietly, "I'm sorry. It's one of those things… I didn't want to worry you. I thought, if you weren't well, you might get upset… or angry."

"Angry?"

"At… Hawke, maybe? Or the others?"

"Ah. Well," he sighed, "I can't promise that I wouldn't have been. I might still be a little. You healed it yourself?"

"Yes."

"You did a good job," he said honestly, "Looks like it was a bad cut."

"It was," she nodded, far too enthusiastically. He laughed, despite the concern still weighing down his stomach. "I took my first lyrium potion to do it."

The heaviness inside him twisted uncomfortably. He didn't welcome that topic, but couldn't quickly think of another. He ordered his attention back to his hands, attempting to move on instead.

"… Oh?" he said distractedly, beginning to undo her trousers.

"Yeah… It was strange. It made me completely focused — I was afraid before, but then I wasn't. It felt like I could do anything."

"… Sounds familiar."

"It must be a hundred times stronger when it hasn't been processed and diluted," she murmured, frowning as he knelt before her and pulled her leathers down with him. "It's empowering, but… I don't know. I crashed pretty hard afterwards and the feeling… I think it might be easy to grow too used to it."

"The risk is not the same for mages," he said automatically, directing her feet to step out of her boots. "It takes a different toll, because of their mana."

"Our mana."

"… Yes."

"Still… there's always potential for abuse. I'd rather not use it, unless it's a dire situation."

"That seems wise," he said definitively, straightening himself up.

Elsa quieted as he leaned over her, looking deep into her eyes until he could see the specks of colour flickering among the grey. She shuddered, her eyelids fluttering, when he let his fingers trace across her curves. There continued to be something strangely enticing about seeing her in nothing but his cloak. Especially now, after such a long time and while she rested against the table with the battle plan behind her. A sudden image sprung to mind of how she might look in Skyhold's war room instead — the red fur around her, her body resting on the map of Thedas with her back curved and her legs slightly spread apart… His heart hammered against his ribs at the thought. Maker forgive him… he would like to see that. Her thighs shook when he slid between them with one hand, holding her with the other while he resumed kissing the line under her jaw.

"Are we… done talking now?"

Her breath came out in short gasps, interrupted by small squeals of pleasure when her pelvis quivered against his hand. A heat was building in his gut, rumbling up through his chest. Never before had he been less interested in discussing anything, let alone the topic of lyrium… He silently cursed it for even having made its way into conversation to this extent. It already hovered over them, despite the assurance in her letter that now wasn't the time to talk about it. He hadn't expected her to have another reason to bring it up… after all, she hadn't had one before.

"Yes," he growled, biting down on her shoulder, "we're done."

Elsa breathed a laugh in response. "Aye, Commander."

He directed his attention from her neck to her lips. She moaned eagerly when he urged her to open her mouth for him, seemingly forgetting about their lack of privacy. Her hands went from the edge of the table to his chest, rapidly pulling at his shirt. Soon he found himself lost in the frenzy of her embrace, her legs wrapped around his waist and pulling him against her with a primal hunger.

She was back… and she was his once more. Any other thoughts that might have lingered were banished from his mind as the tokens marking the upcoming battle scattered to the sands below.

o - o - o

He held her in his arms, his mind numb as he vaguely stroked her shoulders and back, feeling the curves of her muscles beneath his fingertips. She'd lost weight and her shapes had become more defined. His fingers trailed the scar on her arm, sending a shiver through her skin. Even that, though disconcerting at first, had its appeal. It was a new sensitive spot for her, one that he'd discovered quite accidentally but seized upon once he did. He began to doubt there was anything Elsa could do that made her less attractive to him. All evidence seemed to indicate the opposite. At one point she'd surprised him by pushing to be on top of him, in a way she'd never done before. Her expressions, her body leading him to move in unison with hers, the sounds resonating from her core… All would be burned into his memory until the end of his days.

Her stamina had improved along with her boldness as well… He hadn't kept count, but by the time they'd ended up on his bed roll with her cradled against his chest, he felt fulfilled and thoroughly exhausted. Tonight, he might actually have a decent chance at proper sleep. So far… he did not mind the ways she'd changed in the least. Relief washed over him as he nuzzled the top of her head, drawing deeply from her smell… If anything, she'd only grown more confident, more beautiful, yet she continued to want him. He still didn't know what he'd done to deserve that, and highly doubted he even did at all… But as long as she wasn't aware of that fact, he wasn't going to be the one to alert her to it.

"What are you thinking of?" she asked quietly.

"You."

She laughed softly, rubbing her cheek against his chest. "I should do that."

"Why? What are you thinking of?"

"… Tomorrow, I guess."

"Ah… I've been thinking of little else these past weeks. Thank you for taking my mind off it for a bit."

"Sorry to remind you again."

"That's alright. What were you thinking about?"

She was quiet for a while. When she spoke, her voice was small. "We are going to lose people, aren't we?"

He glanced down, but couldn't see her face clearly. "Yes. It'll be a hard-fought battle."

"Are you okay with that? You've trained those men and women. You… know them."

"It's hard… of course. But they accepted the risks when they joined us and they know what they are fighting for. They are ready."

"Even to die?"

"In service of what they believe in."

"… Are you?"

"I will do what I can to prevent it… but, yes. It's what I've trained for."

She shifted in his embrace. "I… don't know if I am. Does… doesn't that make me undeserving of them, as their leader? Of you?"

Cullen remained silent for some time. He hadn't been around many civilians in his life, not in a meaningful way. His family came closest and he'd barely kept in touch with them. Most people around him had chosen a life of service or followed another path of violence to fight for what they believed in. Even with everything she'd been through up until now, Elsa had never made that decision or signed up for such a life willingly. He was astonished how these things never seemed to occur to him, not unless she or someone else threw them in his face to consider. More so, the thought that she could be undeserving of _him_… How could she even consider such a thing?

"Your silence speaks volumes," she murmured, shrinking a little.

"No," he said quickly, "I didn't mean… I just had to think, is all. I don't see how it is different. You put your life on the line every time you leave Skyhold, or back at Haven, and you'll be right there with them tomorrow. You don't have to welcome death to be willing to do the right thing. In fact, it's your defiance of it that has brought us this far to begin with."

"Oh," she said softly, relaxing a bit. "I guess so."

With her doubts seemingly alleviated for the moment, she adjusted her position against him. She began to kiss the stubble on his neck, nibbling at his skin, while she let her leg rub against him. He'd be ready to go again in a few minutes if she would keep that up… were it not for the line of thought his mind had now decided to pursue.

These were the kinds of things she thought about from time to time, yet they had barely discussed such topics since she returned from Crestwood. Had they gone completely unnoticed by him? How often? This might just be a fraction of them… and these weren't even sparked by him. She'd been tired some mornings, after he'd kept her awake, but she never complained. He'd seen her pained expression when he told her he was fine, but really wasn't. She'd calm him, comfort him, or let him be if he asked… but what was going through her mind during all that? And how many more things did she not tell him about?

He still didn't want to raise the topics from her letters, but it seemed more uncomfortable not to at this point. Eventually he couldn't avoid them anymore. Though he wished for the remainder of the evening to pass as pleasantly as it had so far, the thoughts now stuck in his head provided an unwelcome obstacle to that… Perhaps, if he just got it over with, they could still have a nice night.

He took a breath and pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair. "Since we're back to talking," he said softly, putting a hand on her leg to stop her from teasing him back into action, "should we discuss… your concerns?"

"We… don't have to," she muttered, her nails lightly scratching his skin with the tensing of her hand. "It's not really the time, is it?"

"I'm not sure when the time would be," he sighed. "It's already here, isn't it? Little point in ignoring what's staring right at us."

"It's not Cole, is it?" she quipped weakly.

"No," he said with a soft chuckle, "Just us, for the moment."

"Right. I… I don't know. It felt so massive for a moment, while I had it stuck in my head. Now that we're together, it all seems rather insignificant again."

"But it's not gone."

"No… Not exactly. I do think about… things."

"I see," he murmured into her hair. "How come you haven't told me earlier?"

"I suppose I didn't really notice. It's like what you said — you make me happy. Things that aren't perfect don't change that." She snuggled a little closer against him and he hugged her tighter in response.

"So what is the problem then? I can't fix it if you don't tell me."

"I know… I — I think in part it was just me finding it hard to formulate it properly, you know? I had a lot in my head, hearing about Myca and then so many things happened with learning magic and the templars… I'm not always good at sharing, Varric has to keep pushing me to do it." She shrugged apologetically, then looked away. "But… with that, I guess…"

"You've been worried for me," he finished, "and you weren't sure I could handle it."

"… Yes. I'm sorry, you haven't given me reason —"

"That's okay. I'm not sure how to convince you that you can always come to me, despite…" He pushed her back a bit so he could look at her, though she wouldn't meet his eyes. "What are you worried about exactly?"

"I guess, when I think about it… we don't know what this can do to you. Not really." Her gaze remained firmly on her hands, fiddling with the hair on his chest. "Nic, my brother… it's agony for him and he's never gone as long as you have. We don't know if it can be done. If… if it can kill you. The Chantry —"

"Hey now." He gently took hold of her hair and lifted her chin with the edge of his finger. "It's been months," he told her, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone, "and it hasn't yet."

"It's — I know…" She bit her lip, eyes flickering in the uneven light until they fell once more. "It's your decision, but it's hard to watch and… I love you. I'm not sure how long I'd want to roll the dice on something like that."

How had they not talked about this? She'd been supportive in Haven. Unquestioning. He had assumed — or presumed — that nothing more needed to be said, had no reason to believe it might have changed, but… they weren't the same now as they were back then. Beyond taking the extract, he hadn't wanted to involve her further in the deal he'd made with Cassandra – to burden her with that. Except that he had. With that being the case, was it still fair to exclude her from the decision now? No… he couldn't very well make the point that it was.

"Elsa," he sighed, stroking her hair back. "I am sorry to worry you — of course I am. But do you know what I don't want to roll the dice on?"

She shook her head, not looking up. He let his hand graze down to her neck and playfully tugged on the ends of her hair. She let out a soft, lone chuckle, then met his gaze.

"Do you know what lyrium does to templars when they get older?"

"Yes… they lose their memory."

"Exactly," he said softly, taking her cheek in the palm of his hand. "Forgive me. It is not the reason why I quit, but now… I will never, not in a million ages, roll the dice on the chance I might forget. Forget you. It is selfish of me, but I simply cannot take that risk, no matter the pain that I… that _we_ may have to endure."

He'd wondered often since this all started. When he couldn't focus, after another night of lying in the dark with his eyes wide open and nightmares haunting him while awake. Where he'd sat at his desk, trying to do his job but his body refused to obey, threatening a cascade effect that would snowball into the following days. The philter had beckoned him from the other side of his office and the questions would rise to the forefront of his mind. Why did he bother? Was it worth it? If he couldn't perform his work for the Inquisition, fulfil what vows he had kept… what was the point of it all?

But then… he'd found it. His philter had never made it into their chambers. Instead, he would look across the room and see her sitting on the bed, his cloak around her shoulders, her expression pensive as she considered whatever text she had before her. Simply having her there… it was enough to see the point. As long as his heart kept beating in his chest, it was enough to endure it.

"Selfish?" she said, her voice catching in her throat. "You are the last person I would ever call that."

"No, in this I am. I never asked you if you're up for this and I'm not giving you a choice in the matter. Not to mention I am putting the Inquisition at risk."

"You're not," she said, vigorously shaking her head, "You're amazing."

"Please don't call me that. It's alright to be critical of my decision. You don't have to —"

"Cullen." Tears were swimming in her eyes. He hadn't meant for her to get upset… perhaps discussing this tonight had been a mistake after all. "Don't say that," she said quietly, stroking the side of his face, "You are so strong… I can only strive to be half as selfless."

In a sudden flash, his pulse began to quicken… in a manner far less pleasant than it had before. It thudded through his veins in panicked bursts, rejecting the sentiment of her words. He felt his brow furrow and his jaw tighten as he looked into her eyes, which still shimmered in a way he hadn't often seen them do before.

"You give me too much credit."

"I don't think so. You… you believe so completely in our cause and the work we do. You work tirelessly to achieve it, despite your health. You never doubt the way I do and you've continuously been there for me… every time I was having difficulties, you were there to help me through them. You're —"

"Please, Elsa… Stop."

"… What?"

"Just… stop," he sighed. "I am not all that you're making me out to be."

"What do you mean?"

"I… do not deserve that praise."

Confusion continued to line her face — clearly she disagreed. "Why… I don't — Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Yes… You are."

"But I don't — I'm sorry. Does that happen more often?"

"… Not often." He paused, an unmistakable feeling swirling in his gut. He hadn't known exactly what he was trying to avoid in talking about this, not until now. Now, however, it was staring him in the face, unwilling to be beaten down like he had in the past whenever it attempted to rear its head. "One time that I remember, when you told me why you put the templars in my charge."

She frowned as she recalled the memory. "You mean… when I said you're the most decent person I know?"

He nodded, swallowing away the restriction building up in his throat at hearing those words again.

"You never told me that bothered you."

"There wasn't an occasion to… and I didn't see the point. You meant well and you haven't repeated it since then."

"But… I've complimented you since then. And before. Many times."

"It's… I'm not sure where the line is. Just don't elevate me to something I'm not."

"But —"

"Please. I have been relying on you and you have supported me. More than you know. It is perfectly alright for you to not always have the energy to deal with it. I won't take it personal."

"That is… I mean, thank you. But I don't see why —"

"Listen…" He pulled her closer, shushing her by bumping his nose against hers. "I like that you don't sugarcoat or exaggerate, alright? Being straight with each other, poking fun… it's one of the things I love about being with you. I should have been more considerate of you and I am sorry, but with this… can we just accept that I am more at ease with you calling me 'ox' than any of the things you wanted to call me just now?"

"I…" Her eyes continued to flit back and forth, searching for more explanation. "If you prefer…" she said eventually, "of course."

"Thank you."

After another moment of hesitation she lay back down against him and began to trace the line of his collar bone with her finger. He took a deep breath, tightening his arms around her. His body calmed slowly as his mind drifted to how they could still enjoy what was left of the time they had, before they each had to go to sleep. If he could sleep… he was less sure of it now.

"Cullen?"

"… Yes?"

"Will you tell me after tomorrow?"

"Tell you what?"

The silence hung suspended between them. He knew what she wanted to ask…and he didn't want to answer her. Part of him hoped she would feel his tension and reconsider. Yet even if she did… it wouldn't matter, not anymore. It had entered their space and tainted the atmosphere, like it had done with everything else he'd touched since that cursed event eleven years ago.

"… Never mind."

Cullen exhaled heavily, trying to avert the headache forming behind his eyes. They didn't have time for this, not right now, and he didn't want her to feel this way. How was he supposed to mend this still tonight?

"Why do you want to know?" he asked, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice. "What would it accomplish?"

"I used to think like that," she said quietly, "but… I've had to face some painful truths recently. I think it's for the better, in the end. Were this any other situation, wouldn't you want me to know what I'm dealing with?"

"I shouldn't have made it yours to deal with in the first place."

"Except it is." She raised herself up to his level. There was no avoidance, no hesitation… no softness to her looks. Her eyes bore into his, unwilling to let them go until she had made her point. "I am in this, Cullen, and I am not going anywhere now. If you appreciate that I'm straight with you, then you should extend me that same courtesy." She paused a moment and frowned. "Equals, right?"

His resistance broke into pieces, smashed apart by the resolution in her eyes and the undertones of love as she reminded him of the promise they'd made. He didn't doubt her words, though his heart ached at the thought that she didn't fully know what she was committing to. Still, he preferred this over the tears. Her regal air was both fearsome and hard to disobey… but easy to answer her it still was not.

All she wanted was for him to be well… How ironic that her concern seemed to make it worse. Or perhaps it didn't… perhaps it just made it harder to ignore what was stalking behind the veneer of his discipline. It was how he'd managed to keep that tortured time, that moment of powerlessness, from exercising its hold over him. Without the lyrium, it was the only tool he had.

Until recently that was, when he'd acquired a new one. A light in the dark, a surface layer of happiness forged by her hand that he wore like armour. It was more than he'd had in the past and at times he had himself convinced it would be enough. But it wouldn't do… not if he was making her go through this with him. Unless he wanted to go at it alone again, he had to consider her. Even if it meant sharing what he'd sworn to lock away, attempting to keep it from causing further harm. Even if it was the start of many more questions… questions with answers he was afraid for her to receive.

He cupped her chin, softly grazing her lip with his thumb before he kissed her. Her response had a hint of desperation in it, pulling him in as if wanting to suck the venom from a wound.

"I love you," he said, pushing his forehead against hers. "If you really think it is better… I will tell you."

"After…?"

"After. Until then… please, let's just enjoy this time. Alright?"

"Thank you," she said softly. "I love you too… no matter what comes. You know that, right?"

"Yes… I know."

_Please let that be true._


	43. Precipice of Change

"Knight-Commander… A moment of your time?"

Meredith stood with her back towards the door, his latest report in her hand. He restrained himself from showing his discomfort… He'd again been hazier on the details than what she'd gotten used to from him over the years. Would she notice?

"What is it, Cullen?"

Her voice had not often carried warmth in the time he'd served under her. Occasionally it surfaced, in the rare private moments where she would explain him the reasons for her strict rule. How much it pained her, but that it was necessary. Mages, like her own sister, were cursed… her way was the only one that could protect everyone from that burden. He had agreed, at first quite readily, and been the one to enact her methods without question for years. But that side of her had grown increasingly rare. Now, it had become largely non-existent. These days, there was no warmth left behind… only steel.

It unnerved him.

"I thought we should discuss the disciplinary actions to be taken, Knight-Commander."

She turned around, locking her icy eyes onto his. "Your report makes no mention of Orsino."

"I… do not believe he was involved, Commander. Thrask ran this operation, with the help of the apostate that was killed. He recruited both templars and mages to avoid our detection."

"_Your_ detection, Knight-Captain," she sneered, "Don't all lieutenants report to you every day?" Her glare rested on him for a moment before she returned her attention to the report. "I do not believe it — he must be involved. You just haven't looked hard enough."

Her words penetrated his armour like daggers hitting bare flesh. He steeled himself, pushing back his shoulders. It wasn't the first time she'd lashed out at him… Not that it wasn't deserved to an extent on this occasion. The conspirators had evaded him for months, sneaking in and out of the Circle in their efforts to undermine the Knight-Commander. Ser Thrask had been on his shortlist of suspects, ever since he openly started whispering against Meredith, but hard evidence had proven itself impossible to find. Were it not for the traitors' mistake in abducting the Champion's brother, the details of the conspiracy might never have been brought to light.

But he didn't believe the First Enchanter was involved, he simply did not. Nor had blood magic been required in circumventing their security, as much as Meredith undoubtedly suspected that it had. His knights had simply deceived him of their own volition. That was the simple truth, as much as it pained him to admit it. They came to him with small indiscretions, favouring his way of handling such affairs over Meredith's. The fear in their eyes when they did was tangible… and apparently it had been strong enough to participate in a scheme such as this and lie to his face about it.

"There is no evidence to suggest the First Enchanter's involvement." He kept his tone as stern as he dared to. The look on her face promised nothing good. "Forgive me, but you must let this go."

"If I let it go, soon enough the next blood mage will find a way to take advantage of my lenience," she snapped. "How was the Champion involved in this?"

He felt his eyes widen a little. "She… wasn't, Commander. It would appear she became a target herself for the blood mage involved. She effectively ended the conspiracy for us."

"Don't be naive, Cullen! It is no coincidence she keeps showing up in places she has no business being. She may have served this city once, but her very existence undermines us. She is not on our side."

He willed his gaze to stay on her face, much as he wanted to look away from her piercing glare. Meredith considered him in return, undoubtedly seeing his unwillingness to condemn the Champion along with her. He was on thin ice… What goodwill he had left, he had to be careful how to spend it.

"I recommend that we retain the mages involved and suspend the templars," he said evenly. "The people we arrested were hoping to achieve their goals peacefully."

"Their goal of ousting me," Meredith countered. "How long, do you think, until they try again?"

"They have lost their leaders, Commander. A message needs to be sent, but they did not turn violent, nor to blood magic. Any more drastic measures will only —" He caught himself, and hesitated.

Her eyes narrowed. "Only what, Cullen?"

"… Only add to the rumours that you are unstable, Commander. Do not give them that ammunition."

"People are often called mad until they are proven right," Meredith scoffed. "I have the people of this city to worry about, I do not give two coppers what others may think of me." She looked at his report again. "Questioning them has given you nothing?"

"Nothing on Orsino's supposed involvement. We were thorough… I assure you."

"Fine!" A muscle in her jaw tightened as she thought. "Sedate those mages and keep them in solitary until I give the order for their release. I will consider how to proceed from here. Dismissed, Knight-Captain."

It was hard to pinpoint the beginning of the end. It was long before that conversation in her office, but he thought that was the moment he'd truly started to become aware of it. Although it was possible that such clarity really only surfaced now — seemingly obvious, yet not manifesting itself until years of reflection had passed. If he had been aware at the time, why didn't he act differently when she called for the annulment? How did he never notice, that the way she ran her Circle was not normal? The isolation, the secrets, the severe response at minor incidents… He'd presumed it was her own trauma — seeing her sister, an apostate hidden by her family, turn into an abomination and kill dozens of people. It had been a powerful story, one that she told him the first time she'd called him into her office. He understood, as she knew that he would. It was the only reason he made Knight-Captain as quickly as he did — his past, not his skill… How had that ever been alright with him? What had he become for that to be acceptable? Once, he had ideals. Once, he wanted nothing more than to serve the people. Once, he talked to mages openly, like equals… the way he talked to Elsa now.

A gleam of silver shone beside him, flowing across the shapes of her shoulders. Thank the Maker she had fallen asleep without problems… he would not forgive himself if she was fatigued on this morning because of him. Though he should be sleeping as well, at least he wasn't keeping her up. It was far from perfect, but it was better than nothing. He turned towards her and lightly took hold of the ends of her hair, letting the soft strands glide between his fingers. Her family had managed what Meredith's could not — keeping her hidden from the Circles and prevent her from becoming possessed in the process. If they hadn't done so… he might have met her years earlier than he had now, when he was stationed in that Maker-forsaken place.

Would he have learned her name? He hadn't bothered with most of them, not after Ferelden. Considering the high ratio of failed Harrowings in Kirkwall, the less he knew of them the better. Knowing their names was the first step to caring, which could only lead to complications. After what happened, he was desperate to avoid that weakness. The ones he had known were the troublemakers, whose names he never had to remember for long after he'd become aware of them. No, if he was honest with himself, he had to admit he wouldn't have learned hers. Not unless… she'd made him.

His mind went back to when he'd first gotten to know her at Haven and her gentle insistence that people call her by her name. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, not beyond the fact that it bothered him. The reason for her persistence seemed obvious now. In that situation, as a prisoner of the Inquisition, forcing them to consider the girl behind the alleged mass-murderer was perhaps the best defence she had. When she had wanted him to trust her, it was also the first step towards that goal. Although it was a little manipulative, he couldn't help but be impressed. He pressed his face into her hair with a wistful smile, taking in its sweet smell as he reflected on how clever she had been throughout all of this… when his mind took a turn.

How would she have fared in the Gallows? He tried to picture her there, using her charm and wit to get by. Undoubtedly she would have been smart about that as well, careful in finding out who to trust and who to avoid. It might've worked well for her for a time… at least until she would have drawn the wrong kind of attention from the wrong kind of templar. With her looks, it would have been inevitable. He'd shut down such activities whenever he became aware of them, expelled knights who did not observe proper relations with their charges. Jailers, judges, and executioners was what Meredith expected them to be, not abusers… but it had happened. Undoubtedly he would have noticed her himself, much like he had the day that Cassandra introduced her to him. But he wouldn't have approached her, not in that state he was in. In fact, he might have done the opposite if she'd looked at him with those regal eyes, for fear of her turning into another vision for demons to tempt him with. Perhaps he would have removed himself so far from her to protect himself, that he simply would have turned a blind eye to whatever might befall her while she was there…

Would she have joined the conspirators? She had lived under her family's oppression, but she was no pushover. All she had needed was a strong enough motivation to break free from that situation. Would she have accepted her fate in the prison, or would she have tried to change it? The silver lioness and the careful negotiator were two sides of the same coin now, easily flipped between. Yet if she had spent enough time in such a miserable place, he couldn't tell which would have won out. If she had been part of the conspirators… would he have disciplined her? Interrogated her like the others, using whatever force necessary? Put her in solitary under sedation, where she saw no sunlight or had any company for days or weeks on end? If she had turned to fight him… would he have struck her down?

The uncertainty in answering these questions made his stomach churn, causing bile to rise through his lungs and gather in his throat. It felt wrong, so extremely wrong… but he couldn't deny it. That was what he would have done to her, not that long ago. Cassandra had been clear when she recruited him that however he had faltered in the past, what she cared about was who he was now and how he would shape his future. She saw the work he did to restore Kirkwall and it was enough to convince her of his worth. But neither of them ever envisioned the appearance of the Herald or the person behind it, let alone that he might grow to love her… and that she might love him back. Was what he had done since abandoning Meredith really enough to make up for what had come before? Did it give him any right to be with someone like Elsa, when mere years before he would have treated her as something cursed, diseased… something less than human? Would she ever think so?

And would all of that even have changed, without Hawke challenging his beliefs along the way?

When he finally drifted off to sleep, it was the Champion that he saw — standing in the Gallows, trying to calm the flaring tempers of the First Enchanter and his Knight-Commander. He'd been in Lowtown when he watched the blinding flash of red wash over Kirkwall, tainting the stone the colour of blood before it had started to flow through the streets. He ran into Meredith shortly after, who brusquely informed him of her decision to invoke the Rite of Annulment. He tried to question her on the way back to the Gallows, find out what happened, but all she said was to do as he was told. Even then he didn't question her immediately, for the shock of seeing the Chantry wiped from the horizon did not make her response seem out of place. At least not until they entered the prison's courtyard, where the remains of both templars and mages already stained the ground, and he was provided with another version of what had transpired.

"I suppose I should have expected no less from you, Champion," Meredith told Hawke, her words laced with years of contempt. "So be it. You will share the Circle's fate."

He watched his Knight-Commander, his gut twisting in agony. Surely there was a better way, a way that did not lead to further bloodshed? From what he could gather, Hawke had already dealt with the apostate who orchestrated the attack and Orsino had always been a decent enough man to deal with. If the Champion stood on the opposite side of the argument, supporting the First Enchanter even if it meant her own demise… could he really claim to be on the right one himself?

Meredith rejected Orsino's offer to search the Circle peacefully. Instead, she told him to prepare, while they waited for the rest of the knights to ferry over from the city. She wanted them to put up a fight… Was it to prevent any misconceptions later? If the mages rose up against the templars, rather than submit, no one would question their extermination after it occurred. He stared at the woman he'd followed for the past seven years, trying to rationalise the things she was saying, but failing to do so. Orsino left the courtyard, taking his people with him. Hawke cast Meredith a brooding glare, then locked eyes with him. He could feel her silent intent burning behind that brilliant blue, until she too walked away. The next time he saw her was inside the prison, where she raised her spells against them.

He woke many times during the night, jerking awake from feverish visions in which he stormed the Gallows' gates, blended together with plans and army formations of the upcoming battle. Come morning, he couldn't tell how much he had slept, except that it was hardly enough. He gave up after some hours, got to his feet and pulled on his clothes, took his extract, and checked the status of the camp. A quick glance told him everyone was still asleep, with no stumbling drunks to be seen. He went back inside, where he retrieved the tokens from the ground, returned them to their proper positions on the table, and ran through the battle plan one last time.

By the time he'd finished, Elsa stirred behind him. She began to collect herself soon after, taking time to perform a few exercises. He watched her with surprise when she did… This was new as well.

"What?" she asked, looking up at him from plank position.

"You exercise?"

"Part of training," she murmured, her face disappearing behind her hair as she pushed herself back into a stretch. "I need to improve my core strength."

"Oh… alright. Good on you."

He focused on his preparations again, confirming that he'd memorised Adamant's layout by covering parts of it with his hand and recalling them in his mind. Then, as the gong rang outside, he began to put on his armour.

Knee guards, cuirass, spaulders — though the armour had changed over time, the ritual was ingrained in his being. It was performed without hesitation, an action as natural as breathing. His resolve slowly formed with each piece that snapped into place. The suit was exceedingly well made, a shield against all but the worst attacks… yet it did not protect him from the weight of today's events and those that last night had lodged into his mind. He sighed, shaking his head, and finally straightened the leather on his arms. As he fastened his bracers over it, his eye fell on the vials in his bag.

"Did I take my extract?"

Elsa looked up from fastening her boot, then at the supply. "I don't know, love," she said blankly, "I wasn't paying attention."

He thought deeply, searching his memory as he looked at the vials. "I… Yeah, I did. Are you ready?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I took it."

"Okay…" Elsa got up, slung her bow over her shoulder and checked her equipment. Once satisfied, she turned to him and nodded. "I'm ready."

He took her hand when she joined him at the exit. "How are you?"

"As good as I can be, I guess," she said quietly. "Did you sleep alright?"

"I… I was thinking a lot. But I'll be fine."

She frowned and reached for his forehead. "Do you have a headache?"

"Ah… a bit. It's alright though."

"Are you sure? I could…" She paused, biting her lip. "I'm sorry if I made it harder last night. Perhaps I could… help?"

"Help?"

"Yes, I… I can't replace proper rest, but I can alleviate pain. Hawke said I shouldn't become dependent on it, but… today is not a normal day, is it? Maybe it does something."

"Ah…"

He considered the implications of what she was suggesting. Perhaps Hawke had shown her the trick she used on him before, or maybe she meant a normal healing spell. It was unlikely to be the last one he'd be subjected to today. It made him a little nervous she had the ability to offer this to him now, but it would probably help in the moment. All he had to do… was trust her.

"Alright," he said softly. "Go ahead."

She placed her hands on either side of his face, her fingertips lightly pressing on his temples and her thumbs resting on his cheeks. With a slow exhale she readied herself and let her eyes fall closed. Cullen felt the Veil twitch, then fold away like an overcast sky broken apart by a gust of wind. He swallowed away his reservations, focusing his thoughts instead on how beautiful she looked — the stray strands of her hair adrift in her aura and her face full of concentration, brow furrowed lightly and lips moving in silence. The air around her seemed to turn hazy with the faintest sheen of blue, crackling with anticipation… until it flowed from her fingers and into him, lifting the shadows from his mind and easing the pressure on his head.

It didn't last more than a few seconds. Then she pulled away and opened her eyes, looking at him with apprehension.

"Better?"

He was still tired and although the headache had lessened, it wasn't gone. Perhaps she really wasn't as skilled as Hawke, or maybe she was holding back to not disturb him accidentally. Regardless, it was a bit better. More pressingly, they were out of time.

"Yes," he said, "Thank you."

She sighed in relief. Perhaps unsure what to say further before the moment they were now facing, she simply looked at him, then away, then back. He stroked the top of her head, pushing back a lock of hair too short to stay in her braid. They leaned in at the same time, her hands gripping his cloak, the quiver hanging from her hip pressing into the sword by his side. He pulled back earlier than he usually would, hoping she wouldn't take it personally. They both had to concentrate now… it would do neither of them any favours if too many of their thoughts were with the other for the next few hours. It was the best he could do to keep his already distracted mind from losing track completely.

o - o - o

They rode west, going past stretches of rock and over flowing hills in the direction of Adamant Fortress, and halted on a cliff to overlook the expanse below where the army had started to form. He'd gone out here the previous day with Rylen to scope out the battlefield. That time, the sand had been too hot to touch, blindingly yellow under the scorching sun. Now, it was a mix of dark blue and purple instead, shimmering in the light of the moon and the aurora rising from the Abyssal Rift. The sky was cloudy to the north, possibly carrying an electric storm. He removed one of his gloves to check the wind. It came from the opposite direction… with some luck, the weather wouldn't work to their disadvantage.

Elsa took a deep breath, her gaze resting on the fortress. "I'll go find my team," she said, looking up at him. "I'll see you down there?"

"I'll lead the charge from over there." He nodded to one of the lower dunes, upon which the trebuchets were being pulled into formation. "I'll join your side once we move to breach the gate."

"Alright."

They looked at each other in silence, a brief moment of understanding passing between them. Then she turned her horse and galloped away down the slope, her hair shimmering green in the ghostly light playing against the night sky.

Cullen turned the other way and rode down, finding Rylen and Barris directing their people into the right locations. He joined them, giving out orders and directions, making last minute adjustments and reminding squad leaders of their strategy. He turned around sharply when a soldier claimed to see something move on Adamant's battlements, but whatever it had been was gone by the time he looked. The soldier insisted it was a demon, which he didn't regard as too surprising of a discovery if it was true. They'd see a lot more of those before the day was over…

With the squads taking shape below, he turned his attention to the war machines. The battering ram was brought forward down the line and aligned with the main gate. Memories of besieging Kirkwall's prison rose in his mind once more. How had he never, in all his preparation, drawn the parallels between the two events before? Not that he welcomed the comparison now… of course it presented itself at the most inconvenient time. He distracted himself by checking the state of the trebuchets, behind which loads of rocks were being carted in for ammunition. Eventually he took his position in front of them, observing the remainder of the preparations being taken, while he tried to calm his mind.

"Morning."

Hawke pulled her horse to a halt and dismounted, swiftly tossing her leg over its neck and landing smoothly on the sand. Her staff was strapped to her back and a multitude of knives lined her belt. She came to stand beside him with her sharp eyes focused on the keep, like a wolf assessing her prey.

"Good morning."

"Is it?" she quipped. "Got some sleep?"

"Some. You?"

"I managed to get some during the day. Last night it helped to get black-out drunk, as tradition demands before a large fight."

"I thought that was after it's over."

"Both are socially acceptable."

"Fair enough," he chuckled. "Still not used to a regular rhythm then?"

"I was for a while… but I seem to go nocturnal as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Say, when was the last time we had a proper conversation in the day-time?"

"I think it was when you told me of this mess," he said, nodding towards the castle. "In my office, though you were barely awake then."

"That sounds _vaguely_ familiar," she laughed. "For the record, I don't think it is me who has the problem. Obviously, it's the rest of the world."

"If anyone can make the world adapt to your sleeping rhythm eventually, it would be you."

Their laughter rang quiet and fell silent soon after. For a while they stood together, listening to the shuffle of feet, the creaking of siege engines, and the faint whistle of the wind making small twisters form in the indigo sands below. There were no stars in the sky. The only light besides that of the pale moon, came from the shifting rays of blue and green playing above the keep. It was pretty… in a haunting way.

"You doing alright?" Hawke asked.

"… Nervous. If this fails, there is no one to blame but myself."

"It'll be alright," she murmured. "You're a good leader. You knew what to do with the Qunari invasion. Plus, you've gotten the Inquisition out of some scraps before, haven't you?"

"Is it strange that those felt easier?" he asked wryly. "I couldn't see those coming, so I acted on instinct. Now I have prepared everything that I possibly could… You'd think it would be better, but it just gives me more time to doubt my decisions."

"It's not strange… If it helps, your plans will likely fall apart as soon as things get going. You'll get to improvise before you know it."

"Only you can say that so casually," Cullen chuckled.

"A somewhat relaxed stance towards these things goes a long way in maintaining one's sanity."

She cast him one of her signature smirks, lifting some of the tension from his shoulders. He huffed a laugh in response, a sudden gratitude welling inside of him. Always the outsider, she'd never expected anything of him beyond a chat or a drink. Even when tensions between mages and templars rose to a breaking point, she'd still stop by the Gallows just to see how he was doing. Throughout the years it had made for a welcome change from his other relationships, where the weight of his work was always present and he rarely let himself share his doubts for fear of disappointment.

"Did you and Elsa talk?" she asked.

"Ah…" Cullen sighed, "Yes, we did. Thank you, by the way," he added, "for letting me know what was going on with her."

"You're welcome," Hawke replied, "I hope you'll work it out. You really are too similar, you know, tip-toeing around to protect the other."

"It's… a little more complicated that that."

"I doubt it, Cullen. Like this fight — sometimes it's better if you don't think too much about it."

"You don't know the whole situation."

"I know no one can keep running forever," she shrugged, "Believe me, I've tried."

"… Perhaps. In any case, now is not the time to talk about it."

"Granted." She focused her attention on her staff, checking the crystal at its tip, then spinning it around to adjust the fastening of the blade. "Drinks tonight then?" she said after a while, giving him a sly look from the corner of her eye, "So we can argue about it?"

"Another meeting of the insomniacs? Sure, sign me up."

"Alright," she chuckled, "I'll look forward to it."

The troops finished gathering before them, neatly ordered in units that would scatter within minutes of assaulting the walls. The battering ram was pushed to the front, flanked by soldiers and with most of the Inquisition's inner circle behind it. Further down the field — among the banners of flaming swords, watchful eyes, Orlesian lions, roses and other heraldry — Madame de Fer was directing her charges into position. A horn sounded, answered by another. They'd be ready soon.

"This is going to be tough," Hawke mumbled, surveying the troops like he was.

"It will be. Are you… are you afraid?"

It wasn't a question they asked within the Order, yet it was on his mind now. Lyrium took away that fear, as Elsa had aptly described the night before. Though he'd never drunk a lyrium potion himself, he didn't think she was wrong to suspect it was far more effective when taken pure. It rose a knight's courage to blindly follow the Faith — follow it through combat, demons, and whatever else, regardless of the destination. But he wasn't on lyrium this morning, something he was painfully aware of.

"Always."

"… Really?"

"Of course," she said, a sideways smile curling the corner of her mouth.

"I can't tell if you're being serious."

Hawke laughed, tossing back her head. "Oh, I'm serious… Are you?"

"Serious?"

"Afraid."

"Ah…" He looked across the purple sea, to the black spikes of the keep reaching into the ghostly light. "I am," he said quietly, "Not for myself so much, I suppose… but everyone else."

The first of the banner-men waved their flag, a gesture soon mirrored by the others. Another horn sounded from behind them, signalling the readying of the last trebuchets. His lieutenants stood in front of their squads, firing them up in their own ways with speeches, gestures, pats on the shoulder… Cullen drew his sword himself and took a deep breath, willing the last of the doubts from his mind. It was time.

Hawke made to leave and take her position with Elsa and the others, but paused before she mounted her horse. "Fortunately there's an upside to this fight," she said casually, turning back around.

He drew his attention away from the troops, frowning. "And what would that be?"

"At least we're on the same side this time."

For the briefest of moments, the battle vanished from his thoughts entirely. She smiled as brightly as the day they'd met, making her eyes shimmer like sapphires in the aurora's glow. They reflected a decade of scattered memories as he looked within them — some fleeting, quick interactions or casual conversations, and others that had stuck with him for years. He smiled back, feeling a note of warmth spark in his chest. It wasn't lyrium… but it roused his courage nonetheless.

"Yeah… I'm glad."

o - o - o

The first volley from the trebuchets blasted against the battlements. The shots were scattered along their length, breaking off chunks of stone that crumbled away at the old walls. Cullen walked among the weaponry, shouting instructions to the operators to adjust their aim, focusing the attacks on apparent weak points while avoiding catching their own men in the crossfire.

Their front lines stormed the keep, pushing forth the spring-loaded ladders under the cover of their shields. Activity started on the inside the moment they were in range, with dark silhouettes appearing on the walls that rained both arrows and magical fire down upon them. Cullen watched his soldiers get caught in attacks, stumble and fall, or get tossed through the air by the force of them. Barriers flashed to life all across the field like fireflies in the night, flickering out of existence a short time after while others sprung up to replace them. One ladder was blown up by a mage's spell almost instantly, yet others managed to push through. They began to rise up, the templars' powers forming blue streaks through the dark as they led the charge.

Three, four, five… All along the wall, the ladders latched on to their target and the first of their people started pushing onto the battlements. Many never made it, their assault breaking apart against the figures swarming around the points of entry. Men and women got pushed back and fell down, their screams echoing across the desert towards those waiting to take their place. From where he stood, Cullen could see the nervous shuffle in some of the squads, the shifting of shields and swords as they watched the fate that lay before them. They were ready to lay down their lives… in theory. When faced with the actual situation, that resolve did not always remain so strong. Yet the mixed squads appeared to hold for now, with the templars seemingly rousing the others and providing the groups with the backbone required to see it through.

Finally, some of the troops managed to fight their way into the keep, evident by the growing number of people climbing the ladders successfully and disappearing on top. Explosions could be heard from inside, flaring crimson, yellow, and emerald on the horizon. A large shape briefly appeared some time later, hulking over the smaller figures as it swiped the field with a whip-like energy charge… A pride demon. They needed to get inside — fast.

The battering ram had steadily been moving towards the gate, the activity on the ladders and the fire from the catapults providing the intended distraction. Yet the closer it got, the bigger of a target it became. It was protected by magic at all times, shielding both the device and the men pushing it forward from the rocks, fire, and projectiles being hurled in its direction. The Herald and her team followed closely behind, the mages' powers lighting up the dark as they maintained their barriers.

Cullen focused his attention on final adjustments for the siege weapon operators, then called for his horse. The steed reared as he mounted it. He steadied it with a touch on the shoulder, then galloped down the hill towards the squads waiting their turn. He halted before them to provide last-minute instructions to his lieutenants and words of encouragement to the men where they were needed. The templars met him with swords drawn high and salutes against their chest plate. His men appeared to steel themselves at seeing him as well, pushing back their shoulders and hardening their expressions even as more of their comrades came hurtling down the wall before them. Maker… he was proud of them.

He rode the length of the keep towards the gate, weaving between the charging soldiers and the fire coming from above. A flaming rock hurtled through the air, faster than the others. He swerved out of its way, momentarily blinded by the cloud of dust billowing up as it crashed onto the ground and rolled through the sand, leaving a molten trail in its wake.

The iron fist was being pulled back for the first hit as he arrived. Kirkwall's Circle had multiple lines of defences, a sequence of gates and doors protecting its inner courtyards until one could reach the main hall. They'd broken through them one at a time, using logs they had scavenged by tearing apart the prison's gallows. Adamant's gate was far more massive than those had been, crafted from thick slabs of reinforced oak and undoubtedly barricaded from the inside. Yet while the defences were better than those of the Gallows, so was the equipment they had to combat it. Where Josephine had commissioned a custom battering ram, he didn't know, but whomever had made it seemed to know their craft well.

Cullen dismounted, sending off the horse to run to safety, and joined Rylen at the head of the battering ram, using his shield to cover himself from the incoming fire. The Knight-Captain, his skin aglow with magical reinforcement, acknowledged him with a curt nod, then began to count for the next charge. Three, two, one… The wood cracked in the centre, briefly revealing the beams that had been placed behind it to barricade their entry. Only a few more. Cullen watched as it was pulled back once again, making the gate groan and seemingly pulling the hinges from the stone as the punch landed, and then another time more…

With an earsplitting _crack_, the gate swung open. Those inside who had tried to keep it shut were thrown back from the force, some of them getting caught under broken planks and beams in the process. The others scrambled to retreat into the castle, shouting at their comrades to fall back after the breach in their defences. Not a moment after the battering ram had swung back did Hawke appear on top of it, running across it with the momentum of its movement to propel herself forward and strike down the fleeing Wardens in a torrent of primordial magic. She landed in the bailey, launching volleys of quick charges at the murder holes to keep the archers hiding behind them from attacking their troops now streaming inside.

Elsa ran to join the Champion, with most of her inner circle closely behind. Cullen followed them in and she spun around to face him once she reached Hawke.

"There is too much resistance on the walls," he told them both, "We'll start pushing in from here, but any aid you can provide on your way to Clarel will help us in keeping the demons occupied."

Hawke only nodded, then looked to Elsa. "Ready?"

"Yes," she replied and then, with a quick gesture, "Bull and Cassandra, take point. We'll cover you. Let's go."

Both warriors charged in, acknowledging him with a short glance in passing, quickly followed by Dorian and the others. Elsa's eyes rested on him for a brief moment. He saw no fear within them, only resolve. A silent prayer passed through his mind, fervently wishing for her safe return. Then she turned away and disappeared in the skirmish, until eventually even Bull's form vanished from view as they rounded a corner.

o - o - o

Magic flared around him, electric charges that burned the air as they flashed past his head. Cullen pushed deeper into the keep, flanked by Rylen's squad and the Knight-Captain himself, and pushed up the staircase leading to the battlements. A rage demon charged down the steps towards him. He dodged its attack, ducking low, then skewered it on the end of his sword with an upward thrust. The mage that had bound it stood at the top of the steps, her eyes glowing red as she summoned her mana. Cullen charged forward, shield raised high, and cut her down before she had a chance to cast.

Cullen stared down on the lifeless body, swallowing away further memories of Kirkwall clawing at his mind. Mages in brightly coloured robes, making them easy to track within the prison hallways and providing them no protection. They'd buckled before the army besieging them — men, women, and even children. Some of them tried to raise their magic against them, but most barely managed to throw up their hands in surrender. He'd spared some, in spite of Meredith's insistence that he shouldn't… but not nearly enough.

He shook the visions from his mind, only just in time to notice a fiery orb being hurled towards his head from another direction. He raised his shield to block it, reflexively summoning his powers. His veins surged at the memory of them, yet the holy aura that once came to his aid failed to show itself. The blue haze manifested for a moment, flickering into existence, but vanished the moment the mage's charge slammed into his shield at its full power. He pushed against it, his feet slipping backwards as he felt the metal of his shield growing hot in his hands, until the force suddenly fell away. Rylen emerged from the stairs behind him, his nullifying aura glowing brightly in the dawn. Cullen took the opportunity to close the distance to the offending mage, who crumbled under the templar's skill, and struck the killing blow.

Blood sprayed out with the swing of his blade, dark spots staining the moonlit stone and the smooth metal of his bracers. He stood frozen for a brief moment, staring at the plating that no longer bore the crest. He'd continued to call forth his powers during training, though never in a proper sparring match. He hadn't wanted anyone to see how they were growing weaker. The last time he used them in earnest was at Haven. While they were a far cry from what they used to be, they'd still been effective. Now, they were but a shadow of what they once were. He couldn't protect himself… His heart thumped rapidly at the realisation, pulsing in his head in frenzied bursts.

A rough hand on his shoulder snapped him out of the panic rising in his chest. Rylen gave him a concerned look, his dark brow furrowed. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he said quickly, then turned to the soldiers who'd swarmed the wall behind them. "Take half of them, focus on the eastern ladders. The rest of you, with me."

He led his group, focused on anticipating any magic coming their way and dodging it in time. There were some templars among the squad, but most of the men were from the Inquisition. Cullen's sword cleaved through the air, shattering steel and cutting flesh. He found renewed strength in the energy of the soldiers around him, who in turn were roused by the presence of their commander fighting alongside them. Panic had no place in this situation, templar powers or no. All that his men had, was what he'd taught them. If it was to be enough for them, it had to be for him as well.

They pushed deeper into the fortress at a slow but steady pace, establishing their dominance to ensure Elsa's safe passage towards the inner keep. Some of the Warden warriors had turned on their leader and now fought with them, while demons continued to form at the hand of the mages and charged them in blind rage. Following in the wake of the Herald's party, his company eventually reached the higher levels. Her successful advance was confirmed by every lieutenant he came across, informing him of wounds she'd healed on her way as her team burned through the resistance. Yet a nagging doubt began to gnaw at him as reports spoke of how long she'd passed by before him. If she had… why hadn't she lit the signal yet? He scoured the sky, looking for a mage's spell, a burning arrow, a flare from Varric's supply… anything to signal they'd reached Commander Clarel. Did the Warden leader refuse to listen or had they been deterred towards the very end? Something should have happened by now…

He recognised the sound before he saw its source. It had haunted him since Haven, phantom echoes tricking his mind that made him search the horizon in a frenzy. His heart stilled as the dragon soared overhead. His group struggled to keep their footing, fighting against the gusts of wind the leathery wings beat down upon them. Cullen forced himself to watch the black shape, squinting against the sand streaking his face. It let out a harrowing shriek, fire building between its jaws, and launched a blind shot into one of the towers. He ducked out of the way, shielding himself from the rocks falling down.

"Cullen!" Rylen came dashing towards him, breathing hard. He popped the cork off a potion as he ran and drank it down. The vial shattered on the ground as he tossed it away. "The Inquisitor reached Clarel," he gasped, slipping to a halt. "There was a ritual — they convinced her to stop it, but then… dragon showed." He paused, drawing a sharp breath. "They… I'm sorry, I heard it said they fell off the keep."

"Fell off?" Cullen stared at him. "You mean… off the back? Into the chasm?"

"I don't know," he grimaced. "You should probably get over there."

"I will. Don't… spread this yet. Get everyone organised and finish off those demons. Round up any Wardens that have escaped corruption."

"Will do. Be careful."

Cullen watched him go, a sense of dread swirling inside him once more. She'd fallen — _if_ she had fallen… the Abyssal Rift went as far down as the Deep Roads. There was no way anyone could survive such a drop. He swallowed away the fear and rallied his thinning squad. They were battered and bruised, but still standing firm. Although they'd clearly overheard Rylen, they did not allow themselves to panic. With affirmative nods they signalled their support, then followed him as he led them deeper inside.

The resistance lessened the closer they got to their goal… that part of the plan had at least worked as intended. They followed the trail of smouldering bodies, human and demon alike, arrows and bolts sticking out of them at every angle. He prayed as he ran, wishing with all his might for the bloody trail to lead him towards her and that he might find her alive at the end of it.

A sudden host of demons swarmed them at the bottom of a wide staircase, spilling forth from the green lightning sparking across the courtyard lying beyond. Sounds of combat sounded above them, shouts and the striking of steel, while his team did their best in countering the new threat. One of his people fell, too far away from him to reach her in time. She went down with a scream, quieted quickly as the demon crushed her into the ground. Cullen bashed his own assailant back with his shield and dashed towards it. Its glowing eyes snapped to him, then faded as he thrust his blade between them.

The ritual had stilled by the time he dragged himself up the steps. He searched around, breathing hard, his blood pulsing under his skin. She had to be here… she just had to. If she wasn't… he couldn't even begin to finish that thought. No, she simply had to —

A sigh of relief broke free from his chest. Elsa stood in the middle of the courtyard, seemingly unharmed. Her hair had been torn loose from her braid and drifted lightly in the wind blowing in across the chasm. He spotted her companions among the Wardens standing around her, looking worn out, but alive and well. Thank the Maker… Rylen's report had been incorrect.

Cullen began to move towards her, ready to call out her name, but halted as he came closer. Her expression was distant, her eyes blank and unseeing. The hush in the square was deafening, making the hair in his neck stand on end. None of her party spoke up, nor did any of the Wardens staring at her. He was suddenly transported back to Therinfal, to the moment where the templars had awaited her judgement. Something was terribly wrong here… What in the Void had happened to her?

It was Varric's voice that broke the silence. The dwarf was standing some distance away from her, staring at her with his crossbow hanging limply by his side.

"Where is she, Sterling?"

Elsa continued to stare at a point some distance behind her, barely seeming to register his presence.

"Sterling," he repeated, more insistent this time. "Where _is_ she?"

She turned to look at him, as if only just realising he was there. Her voice was faraway when she spoke, reverberating in the unnatural silence that permeated the courtyard. "She told me to tell you… goodbye."

The dwarf stood frozen for what seemed like an eternity, staring at her in utter disbelief until the shuffle of his boots finally broke the stillness. "No," he said, taking a trembling step toward her. "_No!_ You were right behind us!"

"The nightmare, it… blocked us. She stayed behind. Stroud…" Elsa looked at the warrior standing beside her, then at the ground. "She wanted… the Wardens need to exist. In case of a Blight. For Carver."

However disjointed her words were, there was enough of the Champion within them to convince him of the truth. Varric appeared to shrink before her, his shoulders sagging low and the colour draining from his bewildered face. All he managed was a faint shake of his head, before he turned around and walked from the keep without looking back.


	44. Catch

Elsa stood frozen, her senses numb to her surroundings. The rift had snapped shut, shutting out the nightmare and locking it in her memory instead. She was vaguely aware of the courtyard and the people staring at her. Somewhere beside her was Stroud, eyeing her with concern. It shouldn't be him. It shouldn't… but it was.

Varric approached her first… of course he did. She watched his expression change — relief at first, then confusion. She couldn't meet his gaze for long, couldn't watch his face shift to something much worse once she tried to explain. Her voice sounded strange in her own ears, saying things she could barely believe herself. His anguish was palpable, coiling itself tightly around her chest, strangling it when he abruptly stepped back and walked off.

Her eye fell on Cullen when the dwarf brushed past him. He was marked by the battle, sprayed with blood and keeping his weight off one of his legs. The look he gave her was no better, a painful mix of incredulity and worry. What would each of them think once she told them? Her heart ached sharply at the thought… then she pushed it away.

_You have a mission. Focus._ Hawke's voice rang inside her head, as clear as if she'd been there with her. Her mana growled, anger replacing disbelief as defiance burned within her at the sight of the carnage the morning had left behind. _What a fucking waste…_

She choked back the sickness twisting her stomach, taking note of the situation around her. It had gone quiet and more of the Inquisition's soldiers began to appear around them on the walls. The battle had ended, the last of the demons seemingly having evaporated with the demon's demise.

Elsa beckoned her people with a jerk of her head and they gathered around, none of them seemingly sure what to say or do.

"Are you alright?" Cassandra asked quietly.

She waved away her concern… she had no space for it. Instead, she turned to Cullen. "What is our status?"

His discomfort vanished rapidly, concealed behind the trained mask of a soldier. "We've established control over the keep," he reported, "Our losses are significant, but I can't yet assess the full extent. The dragon seems to have fled the scene."

Their attention was drawn to Rylen coming up from the stairs behind him. The Knight-Captain swayed on his feet as he halted next to his Commander, seeking stability by holding on to his shoulder, and informed them they'd captured the Venatori magister — unconscious, but alive. She bit back the impulse surging to life in a flash of rage. It was unwise to deal with this now, though she doubted her disgust would have faded by the time that she would.

"What of the Wardens?"

"With the nightmare banished, Corypheus lost both the mages and his demon army," Stroud offered. "Although in the stories your soldiers will tell, their Inquisitor broke the spell with the Maker's blessing."

_Fuck you._ "It is not my praises that they should sing," she said curtly. "How can we be sure the Wardens are no longer a risk?"

"The… corrupting influence is gone, Inquisitor," he replied, his eyes flitting between her and his brethren. "They are in control of their own minds again."

"We'll see about that." She turned her attention back to Cullen. "Round them up, have them surrender their weapons. Find out if they understand the severity of their actions and whether they are likely to repeat them."

"All of them?" he asked, brow furrowed. "The Wardens who were not corrupted joined us in the fighting."

One of the Wardens standing close to them shifted uncomfortably. "We stand ready to help make up for Clarel's tragic mistake, Inquisitor," he tried to assure her, stepping forward. He then looked to Stroud. "You are the senior surviving Grey Warden. What do we do?"

"I suggest you cooperate," Elsa told him before the other could answer, "You might want to take this time, while we clean up your mess, to show some gratitude to the people who gave their lives so you could keep yours."

The man shrank back a little. Stroud looked contemplative, eyeing her in appraisal. She gave him a sharp look in return. After all they had done, they had the gall to question her? Though he'd seen her falter in the Fade, she'd be damned if she allowed that right now.

"You may take comfort in my track record of showing leniency to groups of supposed heroes who go astray," she snapped. "Corypheus is not gone — everyone here is still vulnerable. I would be remiss in my duty if I did not assess that threat."

He hesitated a moment longer but nodded his consent, signalling his colleagues to follow her command. Weapons and shields were placed on the ground, ringing sharply on the stone. Cullen gave the necessary orders with a few gestures and watched as his soldiers started gathering the Wardens on one side of the courtyard.

"How… thorough do you want me to be?" he asked, turning back to her.

She frowned at him, unsure how to interpret the odd look in his eyes. "What do you mean? Question them. Take Bull, he'll be able to tell if they're lying."

"They probably are alright without Corypheus' direct influence," Dorian suggested. "If that demon was the source —"

"For everyone's sake, let's bloody hope so," she spat, "Just figure out who was involved beyond Clarel in allowing this to happen and whether there are still signs of corruption, especially in the mages. Am I clear?" She looked between them. Was this really so hard to understand? "Report back to me as soon as you can."

"What will you do?" Cullen asked her.

"I'll be in camp, I… need to think. Are you alright?" she added, nodding to his leg.

"I just twisted it," he murmured. "It'll be —"

"Deal with it," she told Dorian. "Please."

They stared after her as she left, their concern burning on the back of her head. She couldn't deal with it, not any longer. She had to get out of here… lest she would say or do something she might regret. Her mana boiled inside her, growling and snapping its jaws. She doubted she could heal anything right now… far more likely that she'd burn the keep to the ground instead. Her thoughts were on one thing and one thing only, blurring everything else around her as she passed by the wreckage of the battle. She searched the area on her way out until she finally spotted Solas, his expression seemingly reflecting her own bitterness raging within.

"Inquisitor."

"Follow me. I need to talk to you."

"… I'd hoped you might."

o - o - o

They rode back to camp and entered the command tent that she had left only a few hours before. She'd been worried, scared, unsure, though she'd tried her hardest not to let Cullen see it. It had all melted away with the Champion by her side. Now, in the blink of an eye, all that was left to replace it was the scorching anger trampling on her heart.

Elsa paced the tent, stirring up the sand around the war table with the battle plan still spread out on top. She wanted to scream, flip it over, trow it against the canvas, tear down the camp surrounding it. Solas followed her through narrowed eyes, watching her hands as she conjured lightning to jump between her fingers, channelling her rage into something, _anything_, that would not involve her inflicting more harm in a single day than she already had and on the wrong people.

"I heard rumours among the soldiers that you entered the Fade once again."

"Oh, we did," she scoffed. "It's a shame you missed it."

"I am sorry your experience was not pleasant," he conceded, "but… I'll admit I wish I had the opportunity. I have studied the Fade more than anyone alive and even I have only visited in dreams. For you to walk it twice… it is astounding."

"I wish I hadn't, Solas," she grunted, "but I'll take you with me the next time I go. We lost Hawke in there. I need to know how to get her back."

His eyes widened. "_Go back?_ It was a miracle you woke the first time you went there, beyond comprehension that you are standing here now."

"But I did it," she said, coming to a halt. "Twice. Can we find her? Track her down somehow, maybe through dreams, open a rift to let her out? You're the expert, give me something to work with."

"Inquisitor…" Her heart sank slowly as she saw the answer she'd feared appear on his face. "The Fade is infinite," he said quietly, "Constantly shaped by events from this world, people's thoughts, hopes and fears. Even if you opened a rift in the exact position as you emerged from just now, there is no guarantee you'd be in the same place you left behind."

"What if my intent is to find her? Wouldn't that shape —"

"It is not such a direct link, Inquisitor. One drop in an ocean will not make a difference… You say others were in there with you?"

She nodded, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

Solas shook his head. "I don't even understand how they managed to survive without a mark of their own. We can only theorise that yours kept them alive. Without it…" The shadows in his eyes deepened with his frown. "I am sorry… but there is little reason to believe your friend is even still alive."

The energy drained from her body, dragging down her arms and legs as if they had suddenly been encased in stone. She rested her hands on the table, toppling over the tokens when she crumpled the map of the fortress in her fists. "Please don't say that," she pleaded, "There has to be something. She's one of the most powerful mages I know. If we act fast, if —"

"Inquisitor, stop." His voice was no less quiet than usual, yet hard like steel. He stepped towards her, fixing her with his eyes. "I implore you… let this go. The last time mortals walked the Fade they started the Blights. It is a miracle you and the others are here, seemingly without such consequences. I will not help you go down this path. If you do, there will be no turning back."

His gaze slowly stilled her anger, crumbling away the dam that blocked her sorrow from breaking free. A strangled sob tore itself loose from her lungs. Elsa dropped her head, unwilling to let it show. She wouldn't want her to… she would want her to be strong. Solas made no move to comfort her, yet his presence somehow was. He simply stood in silence, his hand resting close to hers on the table, waiting for her to regain her composure.

She slammed the doors to her mind shut, casting herself into the dark. Her breath brushed through the halls and across the steps, a faint breeze that quieted the thoughts echoing in the empty space. In and out, flowing like the tide, slowly gathering her mana until it coalesced to a point. A rustle of feathers, a spark of recognition… Tears fell down her face as she looked at the shape soaring through the void, glowing like veilfire, until it came to float before her on flaming wings. It tilted its head, assessing her with curiosity.

The map was stained wet by the time she opened her eyes. She raised herself up, relenting her grip on the parchment. In a strange moment that made her question the priorities of her mind, she wondered if Cullen would be upset by her abuse of the document. Probably, even if they didn't need it anymore. It brought no comfort to know it would be overshadowed soon enough by what else she'd done, once she would tell him.

"I will need to continue my training," she said quietly. "I've mainly focused on spirit magic since I left. I'd like to resume our practice once we get back to Skyhold, if you're still willing."

"I am… if you still want to work with me."

"I do, I… I needed someone to push me." Her eyes stung as the image of the mage's careless smirk flashed through her mind. "Most people would hold back, but she didn't. I would ask you to do the same."

"Understood, Inquisitor… I'll look forward to it."

"Thank you. I'm… quite tired now. I'd like some time alone, if you don't mind."

He inclined his head a fraction in a courteous nod and made to leave. She looked up when he paused at the entrance, hesitating a moment, then turned back towards her.

"What will you do about the Wardens?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "They helped Corypheus kill the Divine, everything here… Even if they weren't in control of their own actions, I can't —" She shook her head, expelling a renewed puff of anger through her nose. "What do you think I should do?"

He quirked his brow, evidently surprised she'd ask his opinion. "What they did was madness. To seek out the Old Gods deliberately…" It cost him visible effort to restrict himself from spitting his disgust on the ground. She hadn't seen him openly angry before, only quietly brooding. It was strange to witness. "What they did to all those spirits… If it were up to me, I would see the same fate inflicted upon them in return."

"I can't execute the lot of them," Elsa reasoned. "I can get rid of them, out of Corypheus' grasp, and let Stroud try to salvage what he can. Or… I suppose we could put them to use, replenish our forces. Perhaps then this won't all have been for nothing."

"You have dealt a blow against Corypheus, Inquisitor," he said earnestly, "You have denied him an army, twice if I may add. Do not underestimate the victory that is. Does the Inquisition really need allies who would fall to such… insanity?"

Elsa looked at him, considering the options before her. Her emotions were volatile, bubbling under the surface. She couldn't tell if her desire to cast the Wardens aside was due to her grief, her anger, her exhaustion… or if it was the smarter, justified thing to do. The indecision scared her… but no one else would be making the choice for her.

_What would she do?_

"I'll wait for Cullen's report to decide," she sighed, "but… thank you, Solas. I appreciate your council."

"It… is yours whenever you have need of it, Herald."

"Please don't call me that… it's clearer than ever that's not what I am."

He stood still save for a twitch of his ear, waiting for her to elaborate. She told him of what else had happened in the Fade, the memories she'd recovered, and the spirit of the Divine. He listened intently with narrowed eyes, probably wishing he'd been there himself to see it.

"Corypheus was right," she finished. "It was an accident, a random occurrence. I picked up his orb when it rolled in my direction… that's the end of it."

His eyes darted between hers. "You have thought as much for some time," he said contemplatively, "Do you… feel differently about it now? Has anything changed?"

"Not really, except… I have, I suppose," she murmured, "I'm still unsure about a lot of things, but while I'm figuring it out… I just want to do what is right."

The sun had risen, casting a faint glow around Solas' silhouette as the breeze blew open the canvas entrance. He looked her over, assessing her like he had done at various times before. There had been curiosity when it all began, then disdain. Later it had been polite distance, once in a while making place for slight amusement or something almost resembling friendliness. Now he eyed her with a strange intent, as if he was witnessing a nug sprouting wings.

"Are you alright?"

"… Yes." He blinked the odd expression away. "For what it's worth, you have surprised me since becoming Inquisitor. Most people are predictable, but you… I am not accustomed to it."

She stared at him. "Is that… praise?"

"It is." He pushed the tent open with the end of his staff. "I suggest you get some rest, Inquisitor. I did not spend much time with her, but… the Champion seemed like an interesting person. You have my sympathies."

He took his leave, briefly letting in the warm wind until the tent fell closed behind him. She stared at the canvas, every fibre of her being rejecting his condolences. The defiance still flickered in her veins, simmered in her gut — quieted, but not deterred. There had to be a way. Whatever he could teach her of magic, of the Fade… with everything she'd seen since this all started — dragons, spirits of the dead, ancient darkspawn, the black city itself — there had to be _something_ that could bring her back. Part of her wanted to ignore everything he'd said, consequences be damned, and open a rift right there and then… except she didn't know how she had done it before. It had been instinctual as she fell, her mind focused only on the fact that they were going to die on the rocks below… until she didn't. But much as she might imagine that feeling, it did nothing to activate the anchor. All she could do was look helplessly at her hand, where the mark lay dormant inside her palm.

o - o - o

Elsa moved around the tent, unsure where to go or what to do. All she'd known was that she couldn't stay in that courtyard, but being here wasn't any better. Her mind was blank, thoughts fleeting in and out of existence and seemingly unable to take any root. She sat down on the bedroll, got up and walked to the entrance, realised she didn't want to go out, and turned back around to sit down again. Time crept on as she lingered in the haze that had settled upon her, signalled by the air in the tent growing hotter as the sun reached higher in the sky. Sweat began to form under her armour, which in itself was stained with blood and ichor. She stared at it blankly, vaguely registering she should probably change out of it. Her hands began to move on their own, undoing the straps and buckles to shed the leather. She tossed it on the ground around her, not bothered to clean it. It would harden… she didn't care.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed by the time the tent opened again. Though Cullen was no longer limping, he was no less stained from the fight than he had been before. His eyes drifted over her for a long moment, assessing the sight of her on his bed roll. He crossed the length of the tent in a few long strides and dropped to his knees beside her, wrapping her in his arms. Her hands trembled as she reached around his armour. The metal pressed heavily on her torso, hot against her skin from being out in the sun. She let go of him, hoping he'd take the hint. He released her soon after and took her face in his hands instead, murmuring gratitudes her confused brain did not register. His thumbs brushed away the tears rolling down her cheeks as he moved to press a kiss to her forehead. Instinct made her push him back, turning her face away.

"Don't," she whispered, "please."

"Are you… Maker, I'm sorry. Why?"

"I… I killed her."

He stared at her. His voice was constricted when he spoke, a croaked whisper as dry as the desert outside. "… What?"

"Hawke. I — Stroud said he should stay. I… I let her go." Her body began to shake, every inch of her trembling like a leaf. "She said he — he had to rebuild, that… someone had to stay. But I…"

She pulled her legs to her chest and began to rock herself, burying her face in her arms to smother the remainder of her confession as it distorted into pitiful wails. When he embraced her next she wasn't met by steel, only the warm sturdiness of his body she'd missed so much while she was away. He fully enveloped her, pulling her against him and wrapping his legs around her. Her emotions tore through her chest, ripped to the surface under the familiar security of his soothing presence.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed into his chest, "I'm so sorry."

He hushed her, as calmly and quietly as ever. "It's alright."

She rallied herself with a shudder and peeled herself away from him. "No," she hiccuped, wiping her eyes, "Maker, look at me. You knew her much longer. I'm sorry… I'm being selfish."

"Stop it," he sighed. "It's not a competition. We all care for her and… we all knew the risks of today. Hawke did too."

"But it was so unnecessary," Elsa cried, "If we'd just been quicker, or if I hadn't brought us there, or if I'd just told her Stroud should stay instead —"

"Don't do this to yourself." He looked at her in a way not unlike Solas had, though with far more emotion stirring behind his resolve. "The others told me what it was like. Just because she is our friend, doesn't mean it would have been right to leave him there instead. The Wardens need a leader who will see them through this. As misguided as they were, everyone will look to them again when another Blight occurs."

"I don't care," she sniffed.

"Yes, you do," he said softly. "As did Hawke. If she believed in Stroud… we should try to take solace in that."

Elsa was quiet while she tried to even her shaking breath. Cullen's hands gently stroked up and down her arms, steady as always, despite everything. Her heart swelled with admiration for the unlimited strength he seemed to possess. She was careful not to say it, not after his response from the night before… but it was true. He was the best man she'd ever met. Perhaps his modesty was a factor in that, but still… she couldn't comprehend how he did not see it himself.

"Have you seen Varric?"

"No…" he sighed. "I heard someone say he left camp."

"Left?" She shook her head, new tears clouding her vision. "Is he… do you think he'll leave the Inquisition?"

"I… don't know."

Elsa drew a shaky breath, looking down at her hands. The thought of losing him… losing them both? It was too much to bear and yet… she couldn't blame him if he would leave. Not after what she'd done. She'd blurted it out to Cullen, but she couldn't imagine telling him. His oldest friend, his family… He'd hate her forever. She'd almost prefer that he left now, knowing only what he did, and never see him again, rather than having him hear the full story.

"We could go find him," Cullen suggested, "I can send some men. I'll need to stay here, there is a lot to do, but —"

She vigorously shook her head. "I don't even know what to say to him. Let him be, I… I don't want to cause him more pain right now."

"Elsa, you wouldn't. He —"

"Please, just… let it go." She looked up at the ceiling and blinked her eyes clear, then met his. "What is our status?"

Concern was written across his features, but he swallowed it down. "We have heavy casualties, though it could have been worse. We'll need to erect a more elaborate infirmary for the wounded — it will be some time before they can be moved."

"The Wardens?"

"They… appear clear-headed. Mortified, the few mages that remain especially, but they all seem willing to make up for their wrongdoing."

"Do we need them to replenish our forces?"

He thought, his soot stained forehead furrowed. "It would be a welcome addition."

"But they are a risk, aren't they? We don't know what might happen if Corypheus shows up."

"True…. and we can recruit new people in other places."

He looked at her — her Commander — waiting for a decision. He'd make it if she asked him to, she was certain of it, but he was expecting to hear it from her. Her heart beat heavily in her chest… fearful, yet strong. _Focus._

"Please find Stroud, tell him to come see me. Release the rest of them and return their weapons. I'll tell them to clear out of here before the end of the day. I won't have them drain our resources further."

Cullen nodded in assent and they both got up. He hovered by her side for a moment, seemingly unsure whether he should simply leave or do anything else before he would. She took his hand and squeezed it, then leaned in to lightly press her lips on his.

"I'll be alright," she said quietly. "I'll… stay here for now — clean our equipment. Let me know if you need me to do something."

"No," he said quickly, stroking her hair. "Just rest. I'll take care of it."

"Thank you."

He turned around before he left, his hand holding open the tent. The sun cast a halo around his golden head as he smiled at her. Then he turned, and disappeared behind the canvas.

o - o - o

Stroud left the tent soon after, with the solemn promise he would not let Hawke's sacrifice be in vain. Tiredness washed over her the moment he was gone. She collected their armour and cleaned it without thinking, taking extra care with Cullen's and placing it on his stand in what she hoped was the correct manner. Once the task was done, she lay herself down on the bed roll, unsure of what else to do with her time. Her eyelids dragged themselves closed shortly after, undeterred by her faint efforts of keeping them open.

Black rocks in impossible formations, shimmering in the ghostly light falling from a shamrock sky. Emerald rivers, flowing like water yet curling like smoke. Hawke, angry and confused, though tilting her head with mild amusement when she looked at her upside down.

She didn't see spiders, like some of the others. There had been enough spiders in her attic, where she would stay at the times her powers were too much to handle. What she saw, was something far worse… the worst thing she'd ever done. Skin blistered and scorched… a young girl, looking like a monster. Elsa staggered backwards, stumbling into the Champion. She didn't ask her what she saw, only held her by her shoulders and told her to ignore whatever it was. The child didn't attack them… she simply stared at her in silence through bloodshot eyes, dogging her steps as they pushed through the foreign realm.

Other visions manifested themselves, staring at her from a distance. Her brother with a bottle in his hand, a scowl on his face that heralded the threat of violence. Whispers behind masks and fluttering fans, ready to turn on her as soon as she was no longer of use to them. A man without a face that cornered her once at a party, forcing things from her that had not been his to take. Her mother, just… standing there. Arms folded and chin raised, her look one of utter contempt and disappointment.

A voice spoke to each of them, laying bare some of their most private thoughts for all to see. Bull growled a response, Dorian managed a faint-hearted joke. Both Hawke and Varric appeared to brush it off, but glanced at each other after. She grasped his shoulder, where he briefly placed his hand over hers in return.

Cassandra snapped back sharply at the demon, yet her fears of following a false prophet could only be validated by what they found next. Elsa couldn't bear to look at her as the things she'd accepted since Haven were confirmed with the return of her memory. She saw herself entering the room again, only this time with detail that had escaped her for months. Finally she knew why she'd only recalled the stinging in her side and the clenching in her chest, as if she'd been running for miles… and who had been with her.

She watched the Divine turn to gold and rise into the sky. Another person who had given her life to save _her_… a pretender. Not someone ordained by the Maker or Andraste, no one with particular skill beyond the ability to organise an event or carry a conversation… nothing that really mattered in a war with an undying enemy. She could only try to emulate Varric's goodhearted nature, muster a shadow of Cullen's fortitude… most recently she had played at being a mage, one who could never hope to possess even half of the Champion's talent.

They watched the others jump through the rift before them, while Elsa prayed it led them to safety. She made to follow, only for Hawke to pull her back with a snap when the gluttonous demon moved into their path further ahead.

"Go," she ordered, nudging her in another direction. "I'll cover you."

Elsa whipped around, but Stroud replied before she could. "No," he said firmly, "You were right. The Grey Wardens caused this. A Warden must —"

"A Warden must help them rebuild." Hawke stared him down, quieting any further objections with the sheer force of the defiance burning in her eyes. "That's your job. Corypheus is mine."

"I can't leave you behind!"

Hawke looked at her, head angled like a sparrow's. "You need to get out of here," she said plainly. "You are more important than either of us."

Words failed her for a long moment, until she rallied herself with a shake of her head. "No… no, I'm not! There must be another way — I am not leaving you in this place!"

"This is not a strategy meeting, Herald," Hawke said urgently. "There is one big-ass demon right over there and one of us needs to keep it busy. Stroud needs to fix the Wardens for the next Blight, you need to fix everything else. Get _out_ of here!"

"No! I can't do this without you."

Hawke took her by her arms, steadying her with her firm grip. Her eyes were pale blue in the ghostly light reflecting off the green waters as they drilled into hers. "Don't you say that," she said sternly, "It's an insult to both of us."

"Why?" Elsa argued. "It's true!"

"No, you _can_ do this."

"How can you know that?!"

"Simple," she said lightly, "because I made sure of it."

Elsa stared at the mage, who looked at her in a way few people had ever done. It wasn't because of her appearance, her status in life, or whether she'd been blessed by Andraste… none of that had ever impressed the Champion. Yet she looked at her with a belief most reserved for the Maker alone, so strong it was near enough to convince her that whatever she saw… it had to be true.

The demon shrieked as it broke through the stone spires, closing in on their location. Soon it would block access to the rift altogether, unless drawn into another direction. Hawke glanced over to it, then back to her. One of her hands swiftly reached behind her head and she pulled her close, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

"Go," she told her again, pushing Elsa away by her shoulder. "Say goodbye to Varric for me. And you," she added, looking to Stroud, "Take care of Carver."

"On my honour," he promised, "Inquisitor… you must hurry."

Elsa forcefully wiped away her tears, refusing to let them blur Hawke's image as she began to follow the Warden towards the rift. The mage watched her go, her scarred face resting in a contented smile. There was no fear or resentment… only peaceful resolve. If not for their surroundings, she looked no different than she had during any of their card games.

The Champion bade her goodbye with a short nod, her staff whirling in her hand as energy flared around it. Then she ran off, throwing herself into her final fight without hesitation.

o - o - o

When she woke, the sky outside had gone dark. Elsa pushed herself up, her heart and head heavy with the knowledge of the day returning to her. Her eyes felt puffy and the small pillow she'd slept on was damp to the touch. She turned around, expecting to see Cullen managing some report or another by the inadequate light of the lantern. Instead, she found Dorian and Bull, who looked up from their card game.

"Hello," Dorian said quietly, "How are you?"

"Tired," she murmured, "Where is Cullen?"

"Stepped out for a bit," Bull answered. "He had stuff to do."

They put down their cards, waiting patiently while she crossed her legs and stretched out her back. She breathed deeply, trying to clear some space in her chest. Perhaps she should go outside camp and burn something down after all… it had been effective in the chapel. She didn't doubt Hawke would approve.

"Do you want to talk, boss?"

"I don't know what to say," she sighed. "I'm sorry I put you all through that."

"What, saving our lives?" Dorian smirked, "Can't say I mind too much."

She glanced up at him to find a familiar twinkle in his eyes. "Does anything ever discourage you?"

"Oh, yes," he nodded, "Whenever I see Solas' outfit for the day, I am tempted to end it all."

Elsa huffed a faint laugh that died quickly. At least it had cooled down, though she felt sticky and gross with the remains of the battle and the heat still on her skin. Cullen had been extremely polite not to say anything when she saw him.

"Speaking of poor appearances," the mage continued, "you've looked better yourself, Inquisitor. Don't let one bad day lower your standards for too long."

"Given the day, I don't think I've crossed the line yet," she countered, though she got up and walked towards the wash basin. Ice, fire… clean water to rinse herself with. She wasn't bothered by the two in the tent as she pulled off her shirt. They'd probably glimpsed more of her body than that in their time travelling, yet she could be certain both still dutifully averted their eyes for as long as she scrubbed herself clean. Wearing a fresh shirt and smelling a lot better than before, she sat down with them, resting her hands on her knees as she stared at the ground.

"Neither of us knew her for very long, Elsa," Dorian said quietly, "but I am certain she wouldn't want you to beat yourself up over this."

"I know," she said quietly. "I didn't know her long either, but she… saw something in me. I'm not sure why… but I won't let her down. If it's the last thing I do."

"Strong words, boss," Bull murmured, "Got to work on that body language if you want us to believe them though."

"Heh," she huffed, "I'll do that. Give me some time."

The pair shifted a little and exchanged a glance. "What's troubling you most right now?" Dorian asked. "How can we help?"

"Have… either of you seen Varric after this morning? Did he come back?"

"No," he sighed, "I made some inquiries. Seems like he headed towards the Imperial Highway, saying something about finding the nearest tavern."

"I see…"

"He'll come around, you know? He just needs some time."

"Maybe he shouldn't," she muttered, an uncomfortable trill in her voice. "How can I face him after today? I left his best friend to die in there."

"He is not going to hold that against you," Dorian said soothingly, reaching over to hold her hand. "It's harrowing, yes… but he will understand."

"You don't know that. I just let her… I don't even know how to tell him how it happened or if I even should. Maybe it just makes it worse."

Bull looked her over, his one eye flitting up and down with expert assessment. His voice rumbled low when he spoke, calming in its resonance. "Want some advice, boss?"

"… Sure."

"You want to honour her sacrifice?" he asked. "Two things that mattered to her — didn't need to be a Ben-Hassrath to see it. One…" He held up his hand, lifting a finger. "She would do anything for her team, Varric most of all. And two," lifting another, "No bullshit. All cards on the table, remember?"

Elsa looked between the unlikely couple that somehow seemed to be working exceptionally well, despite what their open bickering might suggest. Dorian signalled his agreement with a squeeze of her hand, a wistful smile curling his moustache. A sense of calm flickered to life within her inner turmoil. It would be rough… but she had to do right by them — her people. Hawke would have expected no less of her.

She got up and walked to the entrance of the tent. The atmosphere in camp was subdued… Some soldiers sat around various campfires, drinking and talking, but there was little joy in the air. Further away, blue light shone from the infirmary where Vivienne was likely overseeing the wounded. Elsa told herself she should go help out, when her attention was drawn to Barris and Rylen talking to each other. They conferred briefly, checking things on the papers they held in their hands, until both went their separate ways to perform their respective duties. She frowned, wondering why it appeared odd to her, then turned around. Though his armour was where she'd left it, his bag and sword had gone.

She looked towards the pair, seeing the answer to her question even before she'd opened her mouth to ask. Bull glanced at Dorian, who cast her a guilty look in turn.

"Where did Cullen say he went?"

"… He didn't," Dorian sighed, "He asked us to keep you company."

"Keep me company? Did he leave camp?"

"Yes… we thought maybe he went to find Varric."

"But he has duties here, he… Did he say anything else?"

"Not really… He was upset about Hawke, but…" His voice trailed off as he looked to the Qunari.

"Was he unwell?"

"He seemed to be in pain," Bull confirmed, "Said he wanted to get some air."

"In pain?" She looked out over the camp, trying to calm herself. There was an army of templars here, lyrium and philters in abundance. He'd seemed fine before, only concerned for her well-being…

_Damn it, Cullen._

"Why didn't you stop him? Or tell me immediately?"

"He said he'd be alright," the warrior rumbled, "Pretty rare for him to ask for a favour, so we agreed. It sounded like he meant to be back before you woke up."

"Well, he isn't." She grabbed her coat off the ground and pulled it on. "I'm going to go look for him. Are you coming?"

They got up quickly to grab their equipment. Elsa paced through the camp, grabbing Rylen on the way. Cullen had given out enough orders to keep them busy for days — something apparently not very uncharacteristic of him — then disappeared. He couldn't tell her much beyond that, though the Knight-Captain seemed to share her concern. The stable hand, however, confirmed that he had left several hours ago. A short time later they spurred on their mounts and followed the trail of his horse into the night, leaving the camp behind at a gallop.

_Please… don't let him do anything stupid._


	45. Have it All

Cullen did his job as ordered, like he had always done. The Wardens were of sound mind, horrified at what they'd been a part of. He didn't need Bull's abilities to clear them of further corruption, though he was happy for the Qunari's help nonetheless. Elsa's confused expression as he'd asked her how far to take the interrogations lingered in the back of his mind. A flash of Meredith had surfaced as she gave the order, though how he could have ever misunderstood her in such a way was beyond him. Was it just his lack of sleep… or were the delusions from his nights starting to bleed into his days as well?

Satisfied the Wardens were no threat, at least not for the moment, he saw to the most pressing concerns with Rylen and Barris. He joined in searching the keep for the injured and deceased, some of whom he'd trained since Haven. More than once he found them lingering on the brink, too far gone for medical attention. He held their hands, watching the wild fear in their eyes slowly fade to acceptance as he recited them verses from the Chant. He thanked them for their devotion, promised to relay their messages to their families. When they finally gave in, it happened peacefully, with no resentment for the Commander who had led them there.

Eventually he rode back to camp and found himself in front of his tent. He stepped inside, and there she was — his miracle, alive and well yet again. All he could do was hold her, thanking the Maker over and over as he did, until she shattered to pieces in his arms. Every instinct within him rose to protect her — pushing away his fatigue, his pain, and the visions from the day. Anything to soothe the hurt in her eyes, suddenly so fragile and fearful like a hunted animal. She gathered herself soon after, forcing down the scared young girl like she had done at times before. He had to go at that point, there was too much to do… He prayed to himself she would be alright as he turned and left her to her own devices.

The day passed in a haze, his mind clouded by increasing pains in his abdomen and a haunting melody drumming on his skull. His actions happened automatically, protocol dictating his decisions rather than conscious thought. He needed a break, needed rest… He considered finding Hawke, ask her to see him through it, when he halted in his tracks. He couldn't… and he never would be able to again. He had been afraid… afraid for his soldiers, for Elsa, for any of their friends. He'd never, not even once, considered he'd have to be afraid for her. Hawke did not die — Hawke barely even got injured. She was too stubborn, too defiant for such a thing. It wasn't possible and yet… that was what had happened.

Cullen returned to Elsa instead, finding her fast asleep. He watched her, praying she found peace in her dreams, something he did not expect for himself once he would succumb to his exhaustion as well. His hand hovered over her, but he kept himself from waking her. When she requested his honesty, she did not foresee the outcome of today. She'd been so distraught… how could he add to that burden? Worry her even more, after what she'd already been through? Even if she _would_ prefer it… he couldn't bring himself to do it. He drew a sharp breath through his nose and left the tent, wandering the camp without aim while the afternoon sun burned in his neck.

The song in his mind grew louder with each step. It was everywhere — hidden in bags, under pillows, not to mention the cart full of it with the rest of their supplies. It would be so easy to take it… He could quiet the voices, ban the memories. He could sleep, uninterrupted, waking to the rising of the sun, rather than demons in the dead of night. His mind would be sharp and focused once more and he could be certain he was at the best of his ability. He stared at the tent he'd shared with Barris, which the Knight-Commander now shared with one of his lieutenants.

He knew where he kept it… Cullen's feet moved towards the tent of their own volition, as if pulled forward by invisible thread. He stood outside the canvas, feeling it beckon him from within, and licked his lips. The sudden gesture, so primal and uncontrolled, made him tear himself away, disgusted by the betrayal of his own body. He spun around, making straight for Cassandra's quarters instead.

The Seeker sat hunched over a small table as he entered, scratching at a piece of vellum with her quill. Her sharp brow was drawn into an angry frown, as if resenting the paper for its existence.

"Cassandra?"

She looked up, then back to the table. "Yes?"

"I need to speak with you."

"A moment…" She finished the sentence she was writing. With a groan she tossed the quill aside and stretched her arms overhead. "Writing does not come naturally to me," she lamented, "as I'm certain you can imagine."

He stepped inside, fighting the stabbing sensation between his ribs. "Why are you trying?"

"Historians will one day ask what happened here… in the Fade," the Seeker sighed. "I saw it with my own eyes. It must be recorded."

"That… seems like a good idea."

"I certainly thought so, until I started writing. It will take me longer to decide how to describe it… decide what I saw." She stared at the parchment, the muted sunlight flickering in her eyes. With a faint shake of her head she then stood up from her seat and gave him her full attention. "You wanted to speak?"

"Yes. I… need time off. You should recommend a replacement for me. I would suggest Rylen myself, but you can assess better whether —"

"Hold on," she said, holding up a hand, "We achieved a victory today because of you. What is going on?"

"My performance was flawed. We lost too many and I… I doubted my actions in the battle. I faltered, I… was afraid. If I had done things differently, perhaps we would not —" His words twisted into a groan as the pain intensified, radiating out into his chest. His heart beat rapidly, sending his blood pulsing through his veins… his veins that should not feel as empty as they did. "We might not have lost _her_."

Cassandra's face fell as her shoulders did. "Hawke is gone," she sighed, "It seems too unbelievable to be true. I can't imagine how you must feel, Cullen, but… these things happen."

"No, it cannot be as simple as that! I gave the orders, let them push through ahead of the army. If I had found a different approach to the battle —" He'd begun to pace the length of her quarters, but was soon impeded by the ache in his side. He stumbled and grabbed the tent's support beam to catch himself. "If they had not been out there alone, they may never have fallen and none of this would have happened! The stakes are too high for mistakes!"

"You may argue that for the rest of the day, Cullen, but I will not agree with you. We all knew this battle would be difficult. If I had thought your plans to be inadequate, I would have told you so before."

"Listen to what I am saying! I am not well — I become disoriented, forgetful. Today, I —" It was hot and stuffy in the tent, making it even harder to think. He pinched his nose, shutting his eyes tightly against the memories probing his mind. "My attention should have been on a singular purpose, but… these thoughts won't leave me. If there is even a _chance_ I am not giving the Inquisition my best, then it cannot be worth it!"

"Our deal was that _I_ would decide whether it is worth it," the Seeker said sternly, raising her chin, "Based on your performance today, I see no reason that it is not."

"Stop being stubborn!"

"You've asked for my opinion, and I've given it. Why would you expect it to change?"

"I expect you to keep your word. It's relentless. I can't —"

"You give yourself too little credit."

Cullen glared at her, breathing hard. Her expression softened slowly as she looked him over, her dark eyes shifting between his as she unfolded her arms from her chest.

"You need rest," she said calmly, "I will give you a short leave of absence and take over some of your duties, but you will not leave your position. It is not necessary, Cullen… and it would destroy you."

He sighed, relenting his grip on the pole of her tent. His hand was raw and red from holding on to the rough wood as tightly as he had. He flexed it and rubbed his palm, breathing deeply through the pain burning through his muscles. Cassandra touched his shoulder, tentatively at first, then taking it in a firm grip. He didn't want to look at her, but raised his head eventually. She gave him a thin smile, still surprising to see in contrast to her usual demeanour.

"Today was a difficult day," she said quietly, "Don't push yourself too far. Go away for a bit, you and Elsa… clear your head. I will take care of things."

"I… don't want to burden her," he admitted, looking away, "but, with your permission… I will leave for a while. I… could use some space."

"If you prefer… whatever you need."

o - o - o

His mind focused on his escape, he forced himself to ignore the beckoning of the crystal from each of the templars' tents. He found Rylen and Barris and gave them the necessary orders for the following days, referring them to Cassandra for any questions. Elsa was still asleep when he returned to his tent and grabbed his bag. He stood over her, watching her face while he prayed she'd forgive him once she would wake. Finally he left and strode the length of the camp, the song coming to a crescendo in his head. He tossed open the tent he'd been searching for without concern, regretting it immediately at the sight he was greeted with.

"Oh, sweet Maker…"

"Cullen! How's it going?"

He'd thrown up his hands in a warding motion, looking anywhere but at the Qunari's hulking shape filling up the tent. While Bull seemed completely unconcerned by the sudden disruption, despite his state of undress, Dorian's expression was much closer to what Cullen deemed to be an appropriate response to the situation.

"I'm… so sorry," Cullen stammered. "It's the middle of the day, I did not realise you'd be… busy."

Bull laughed heartily, though it was stifled when Dorian tossed a blanket in his face. "Cover yourself, Bull," the mage grunted. He himself was at least still dressed from the waist down. "Exhibitionist."

"I am in my own tent! Oh, did you invite him to join us?"

"No one invited me!"

"You sound angry about that. Sorry, Cullen, didn't mean to exclude you."

"Why are you here, Commander?" Dorian asked, rolling his eyes at his lover's renewed rumble of laughter. "Is Elsa alright?"

"She is… at least I think so. She's asleep." Cullen glanced through his fingers to see Bull pulling the blanket over himself as he sat up on the bed roll. He lowered his hands, his face hot as he looked between them. "I apologise for the intrusion… I was distracted."

"No harm done," Bull chuckled.

"What can we do for you?"

"I… will be leaving for a while. Not long, but I need you to stay with Elsa while I'm gone. I don't want her to be alone when she wakes up."

Dorian quirked his brow. "Leaving?"

"Yes. I… have something I need to do."

"Are you okay?" Bull asked, no longer laughing. "Hawke… you knew her for a long time."

"I did, but… we did not spend much time together. I, eh… it's tough, but I'll be alright. Just look after Elsa. Please?"

Dorian turned to Bull, who watched Cullen like he had done with the Wardens earlier in the day. Then the Qunari nodded, evidently content not asking for a more detailed explanation. Cullen thanked him for it, sighing a breath of relief.

"If there's anything we else can do —" Dorian began to say.

"Just… this. Thank you, but I'll be fine. I just need some air, I won't be long."

"Alright… take care of yourself.

They nodded their goodbyes and he soon found himself outside the paddocks. The handler quickly walked up to him, surprised he would want his steed but not daring to object. The man kept chatting nervously as he brought him his equipment, telling him how Varric had collected his pony after the battle. Cullen mounted his horse and turned it away from the camp — away from the desert, away from the lyrium, and as far away as he could from the things he'd rather forget. What he wanted to get away from was the only thing he was sure of. Only once he was well on his way did he decide he might as well follow the dwarf and have something to ride towards instead.

o - o - o

He rode through the twilight and into the evening, the thirst lessening the larger a distance he travelled. Soon it got replaced with hunger and an actual desire for water, and he realised he'd hardly drunk or eaten anything that day. He would skip meals when he was busy, but the routine of the Inquisition's kitchen made that his basic needs were not something he had to consider much. Just now, in the haze of the song and without the regularity of his usual rhythm, he hadn't given it a moment's thought. There was one upside… at least he could take comfort in the fact that he was once again aware of such needs. Before, the pain had overwhelmed the sensation completely.

It took him several hours to leave the sands behind and find the dirt trail their army had trampled through the grass. If he kept following it, it would eventually lead onto a road. He increased his pace, remembering an establishment from the journey there not too far from his location. He'd been surprised the place had any chance of survival out here, but one of their Orlesian recruits had informed him there were a number of small settlements in the area whose people needed a place to drink away their troubles. Seeing the desolation around him… it suddenly made a lot of sense.

It was late at night when he pulled up to the tavern, where a broken sign swung solemnly in the increasing winds. A grumpy stable hand came out to take his horse, his annoyance at being woken up outweighing whatever hospitality he might've shown a customer during the day. A quick glance at the other stables told Cullen there were few travellers beside himself… but one was filled by a chestnut pony.

The dwarf was sitting at the bar when he came in, hunched low and a tankard glued to his hand. How long he'd been there exactly, Cullen couldn't tell, but he seemed to have been drinking steadily for as long as he had. He didn't look up at this approach, not until Cullen sat down on the stool next to his. He glanced over, before quickly returning his attention to his drink.

"How did you find me?"

"There aren't that many dwarfs travelling Orlais with both a cleavage and a crossbow nearly bigger than their pony. Also… there's only one tavern in this wasteland."

Varric huffed a low chuckle, then looked at him in earnest. The sadness in his eyes was tangible, leaking through the effort of maintaining his composure. "What are you doing here?"

"Are you alright?"

"Ah," he sighed, a choked rumble breaking apart his voice. There was a quiver to his being, barely noticeable were it not that Cullen had never seen it in him before. "I will be… eventually. I just… can't believe it. She would be gone — weeks, months sometimes. Her and the angry elf. It just feels like it's one of those times. It has to be… you know?"

"I know… I'm really sorry, Varric."

"Thanks, Curly… Have a drink, will you?"

He ordered one and silence reigned for a long moment. Cullen wanted nothing more than to forget the past day and the song of the lyrium with it. At least the notes had quieted out here, yet the pain still lingered. He remembered Hawke's easy smile as she held his hand, quieting his demons on one of his worst days. _Nothing that a couple of beers wouldn't be able to accomplish too…_ So he drank, hoping she'd been right about this as well.

"Did Hawke ever tell you about the time she was on a merchant guild hit list?" Varric asked him after a while.

"No… I don't know that one."

He told him a story so rich in detail he had no trouble picturing it. Hawke in her prime, before her mother passed away — preparing the Amell mansion for the arrival of some thugs looking to skin her alive and roping them into a game of cards instead. It was something so like her, and only her, he doubted any of the tale was exaggerated. No, Hawke would have given Varric little reason to embellish over the years — the perfect muse for a storyteller like him. The dwarf's eyes shone in the bar's flickering light as he relayed the events, describing the mage and her behaviour on that night so vividly it was like she was sitting right beside them.

It dawned on Cullen he didn't know much about their relationship, save for the things he'd observed from a distance and the stories they'd told since she joined them at Skyhold. "When did you meet her?" he asked. It wasn't a particularly deep question, but one he didn't know the answer to. The dwarf didn't seem to mind. Likely, what he desired most right now was simply a reason to talk about her.

"A while before you did. She'd been making a name for herself on the streets… I thought she'd be a good fit for our excursion into the Deep Roads." He sighed, shaking his head. "My first mistake, meddling in her life. Perhaps the worst one of all."

"I'm sure she wouldn't want you to consider it as such."

"She doesn't." He laughed and took another sip from his drink. "Maker's balls, that woman knows —" He trailed off momentarily, then collected himself. "… Knew how to argue."

"She… stayed at the Hanged Man often, right?"

"Yeah," he sighed, a fond smile spreading across his face. "I suppose that was my punishment — those endless human legs taking over my bed half the nights."

Cullen was slightly taken aback by this mental image. Somehow he'd never made the connection that sleeping over in his room had meant her sleeping in his bed. "Were you…" he started, "Were you… involved, at any point?"

The dwarf quirked his brow, not unlike Hawke would do herself at a curious inquiry. "Involved?"

"Yeah… Elsa asked me once. Because you guys were so close." He looked away, scratching his neck. "Physically."

Varric let out a hearty chuckle. "Involved, huh? Of course we were — we shared everything. I saw her every day, the times that she didn't disappear on me. Especially after she ended up alone in that house. If she was in town, she'd either be at my place or with Fenris."

"But you never…?"

"No, Curly," he laughed, "We never. Screwing is not the only way to be close to someone, you know? Has quite the opposite effect most of the time actually. Why, did you?"

"What?" He stared at him. "Me and her? No! Of course not."

"Could've happened," the dwarf shrugged. "She had a thing for you for a while."

"She mentioned it," Cullen huffed. "I still doubt how serious she was about that, but… no. Even if she'd tried, I don't think I would've been in the right state of mind."

"Probably why she found you interesting to begin with," Varric smirked. "She was always drawn towards broken people."

They sat in silence, lost in thought. Cullen couldn't identify specific ones. It was a sea of images, feelings, snippets of her voice… More than anything, the sound of her laughter — bright and uncontrolled, never abated for long, no matter the circumstances.

Varric ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. "Shit, Cullen," he said simply, staring into his beer, "Fucking shit."

"… Yeah."

Then they both drank, with little intention of stopping any time soon.

o - o - o

Eventually they moved from the bar to a rounded booth in the corner, where the dwarf continued to tell him stories of her life. Some of them he knew, many more he didn't. It hardly mattered. In that moment, the sentiment was more valuable than the words describing it. Plot and punchlines took a backseat to details, small moments they'd shared, or things she had said… Anything to help picture her face, her mannerisms, her voice — her spirit. Anything to keep it alive in the room with them, before it would continue to exist in their minds alone.

After several hours, however, even the dwarf stopped talking. Cullen was sure he hadn't run out of stories to tell… he estimated it was either the ale making it harder to distinguish between them, or the fatigue of the day dulling his usually sharp mind. They sat in silence, sipping from their drinks until, after an indeterminable amount of time, Varric spoke again.

"So, why are you here?" The dwarf was assessing him from behind his tankard. "Not that I don't appreciate the company, but I had assumed you'd be there for Sterling while I was off getting shit-faced."

"I asked Dorian and Bull to look after her," Cullen sighed, "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"That I was alright?" He huffed a disbelieving chuckle. "I don't want to doubt the depths of our friendship, Curly, but I find it hard to believe you'd abandon your girlfriend in this situation, after being apart for over a month, just to check up on my ass."

"Apparently you do want to doubt it then."

"Seriously," Varric grunted, with a 'get-on-with-it' type of nod, "What's up with you?"

"… We don't have to talk about it."

"Given the circumstances, I will decide if we do," the dwarf said plainly. "I can talk about Hawke until we both pass out, but that's not going to bring her back. Come on… You know she'd make you talk about it too."

"Yeah," he murmured. "She would. Planned on it, actually… before."

"Then, as the closest proxy, I'm taking over. Spit it out."

Cullen sighed and rubbed his neck. "I _did_ want to check on you. I just… also needed to get away for a while. Today was… lousy and there are things Elsa wants to talk about. I… don't think I'm ready."

"Things?"

"She… wants to know what happened in Ferelden's Circle."

"Don't we all," the dwarf chuckled, "One of the great mysteries of our time."

"Excuse me?"

"There was a lot of gossip after you came to town, Curly. An event like that… the snippets you gave us only sparked further curiosity."

"I'm glad my past provided the rest of you with entertainment," he muttered scornfully. "It hasn't been like that for me."

"Don't get angry," Varric said casually, waving away his resentment, "There was no ill meaning behind it… and it's been a long time since then."

"It doesn't always feel that way." He breathed deeply, dropping his head into his hand. "And it's only the beginning. If I tell her that, it's only a matter of time before I need to tell her about Kirkwall, which wasn't any better. _I_ wasn't any better."

"… You mean the rumours?"

"They were more than rumours."

"I see…" Varric took a long draught from his drink. "You think she won't see you the same way?"

"I couldn't blame her if she did. Especially now… since she's come to accept herself."

"I don't know, Curly," Varric shrugged, "She's hardly become the poster-child for mage freedom. If _your_ well-being is what a desire demon tries to tempt her with, I'd say she must be pretty smitten with you."

"That happened?"

"Yeah. She didn't tell you?"

"No. We, eh… didn't get to do a whole lot of talking."

"I'm sure you didn't," Varric laughed, "My advice? Don't worry too much about it. She likes who you are now. Makes sense, considering it's a lot more tolerable than how you were back then."

"It's not so simple. Everything I've been a part of to suppress mages… If Hawke hadn't come to Skyhold, I don't know if I would have supported Elsa to be where she is now."

"You let her go, didn't you?" Varric asked, eyebrows raised.

Cullen hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

"Then you're doing right by her, Curly… that's what matters. Hawke thought so too, you know? Said it did you a world of good to get your head out of Andraste's ass and between a real girl's legs for a change."

Cullen choked on his ale, then coughed a laugh. He banged a fist on his chest to clear his lungs, while Varric chuckled along at his discomfort. Eventually he managed to breathe, tears springing into his eyes. It wasn't hard to imagine Hawke making such a comment. He could picture her mouth forming the words, her blue eyes glinting with a teasing spark. The image faded shortly after and he grew quiet, with the realisation settling in that he'd never see it in person again.

"I failed her," he said softly, "I was angry at everyone and everything. Then she came along and over time… I wasn't so angry anymore. In return, I've led her to her doom."

"Curly." He looked up, finding Varric's forehead carved with wrinkles of disbelief. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"I… I could have deployed her differently in the battle," he stammered, "I wanted her by Elsa's side… to protect her. If she hadn't been there —"

"Stop that," the dwarf said dismissively. "Guilt is my shtick in this situation, don't you dare take that away."

"Why? What could you have done to her?"

"I asked her to join the Inquisition," he asserted, "I did that. If I hadn't, maybe she would just be running down slavers somewhere with Fenris. Not that it matters… she's already made sure to undercut anyone's attempts at wallowing in self-loathing."

"How do you mean?"

Varric sighed heavily and reached into his tunic, pulled a piece of paper from underneath, and slid it towards him across the table. Cullen hesitated, but picked it up once the dwarf nodded towards it. He unfolded it, recognising the same scratchy handwriting from the note she'd sent him about Elsa. It was a few lines only, though they didn't seem to have been written in haste — evidently it was all the Champion had felt needed to be said.

* * *

_Varric,_

_It's not your fault — I leapt. It's okay. Please let Fenris know._

_I love you,_

_Hawke_

* * *

Cullen swallowed at the lump forming in his throat, but it wouldn't let itself be so easily dismissed. He read the note again, then handed it back to him. Varric took it with both hands, holding it gingerly as if handling a priceless antique.

"When did she write that?"

"Not sure," he murmured, tracing the lines with his finger. "I found it in her bag. My guess is she's been carrying it around with her for some time."

"What does she mean, she 'leapt'?"

"It's this thing…" he mumbled, staring at the note. "Her family almost died in the Blight, but some witch saved them. In return, Hawke had to take a trinket to a Dalish camp for some ritual and _boom_, same witch appeared. Batty old hag, if you ask me. She said something to her, a warning of sorts, then turned into a dragon. As sceptical as Hawke was about anything resembling religion or mystical crap, she always took that seriously."

"Why?"

"Who can tell?" he scoffed. "She told me once she believed in Fate, though I'm not sure if she was joking… Perhaps it was the only way she could make sense of all the shit that happened to her — believing it's meant to be somehow, you know? Or maybe it's just hard to ignore what amulet-bound dragon shapeshifters tell you." He groaned, rubbing his temple. "Fuck if I know."

"So… what did she tell her?"

Varric looked up at the ceiling, thinking. Donning what Cullen assumed was his best batty old hag impression, he then relayed the words. "The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment… and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly." The dwarf shook his head and, continuing in his normal voice, said, "What a thing to tell someone, eh? Way to make someone already prone to impulsive decisions throw all caution to the wind."

He then fell silent, his eyes trailing the message as sadness welled within them. Cullen gave him a moment to himself, quietly repeating the words in his head.

"Here lies the abyss," he murmured softly, "Well of all souls."

"What?"

"Canticle of Andraste 14:11… Sorry. You said 'abyss'… it made me think of it."

"How does the rest of it go?"

"Ah… Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies Eternity."

Varric's lips repeated the verse without sound. He looked at the note again, frowning deeply, then back to him. "Emerald waters?"

"There's discussion around its meaning," Cullen explained, trying to remember what he'd been taught. "It's been suggested Andraste referred to the substance of the Fade, from which the world was formed. Some say she meant reincarnation, or even a life after death. Others think it is simply us returning to the place from where we were once created."

"I see," he murmured, "… I wonder if Hawke knew that verse."

"Perhaps she did."

Varric continued to look at the letter, as if willing her words to answer the questions he was asking her in his mind. "You know what?" he said eventually, then laughed. "Wanna bet? Ten years from now, when I'm sitting in a comfy armchair with a glass of wine and a good book, she'll come bursting out of the Fade riding that fucking demon, trash my living room, and drag me out of retirement."

Cullen smiled at the thought — if it could ever come to pass, Hawke would be the one to make it happen. "Bet you a sovereign she demands a drink first."

The dwarf smiled wistfully and folded the note up to place it back inside his tunic. With another long sigh the expression slowly dissipated, then disappeared completely as he raised his beer.

"Do you blame Elsa?" Cullen asked him, tracing his finger around the rim of his mug.

"Why would I?" he asked, wiping his mouth. "It wasn't her fault. We'd all be at the bottom of the chasm if she hadn't opened that rift."

"She… told me she had a choice. Stroud argued he should stay behind, Hawke said he should rebuild the Wardens."

Varric stared at him for a while, then up at the ceiling. "Well… shit," he sighed, scratching his neck. "That girl is going to be completely fucked for the rest of her life, isn't she?"

"I think we're all trying to prevent that from happening."

"As did Hawke." He expelled a huff of air with a heavy exhale, tapping his knuckles on the table as he seemed to be making up his mind. "Maker's balls, what's the point in assigning blame?" he groaned, rubbing his forehead. "I'll lay it at the Wardens, if anywhere. Let's be honest… it's not like Sterling was ready to argue Hawke out of something she'd set her mind to. She would want the Wardens to have another chance — she saw what a Blight means first-hand… and there's Carver."

His chest rose with his breath, faintly revealing the scars he'd received in Crestwood. Cullen hadn't previously reflected on the danger the dwarf — a merchant and an author — had continuously put himself in for his oldest friend. Now, it was no different for Elsa. Though Cullen had shared her concern that he might turn against her, it appeared they had done him no credit in underestimating his devotion to the Inquisition… and perhaps to her in particular. He wondered if Hawke ever reconsidered her initial scepticism of his fondness for the Herald… and if she'd made her decision feeling confident that he'd be alright following her instead.

"Do you think…" Cullen said hesitantly, "That note… do you think she planned to go out like this?"

He thought, looking deep into his beer. "Hoping for it perhaps. Not the specific situation, but… something. The guilt she lived with — failing to protect her family. Always feeling like she didn't do enough to help."

"How could she possibly think that? All she did was help people."

Varric shook his head. "Nah, Curly. Being free, celebrated even, while other mages were treated like animals? It gnawed at her. She wasn't sure how to change it, not without wrecking everything. Then Anders forced her hand. She… wasn't the same after that."

Cullen wondered what memories of Hawke he was calling forth as he sat there, brow furrowed and eyes flickering in the light of the torches as they darted back and forth. What had she looked like when she confided in him, expressing these thoughts that must have pained the proud mage to her core to acknowledge?

"It must have been rough on you all… after you fled the city."

"Rough is a word for it," the dwarf mused quietly, "but then… there was Sterling. Hawke saw some crazy shit, but the stuff that happened to her? Even if she didn't care much for her at first, I think she saw someone who might make the difference she never could. No one could have talked her out of laying down her life for that."

Cullen let his gaze drop to the table, ruminating on the small moments she'd allowed him to peak through the cracks in her armour. Had she, like him, come to the Inquisition seeking redemption? If she had… did she believe she'd found it sacrificing herself for Elsa?

He hoped she did.

"What's going to happen next?" Varric asked him, glancing up from his mug.

"Next? We go back to Skyhold," Cullen shrugged. "We're done here."

"Good… I'll be happy to never see another Warden for the rest of my life. Might make an exception for Blackwall, if he can stop blabbing about how great they are for a while."

"I think we can tell him to do that… You won't have to deal with the rest of them. Elsa sent them to Weisshaupt."

"Did she?" he murmured. "She didn't recruit them or something, like the templars?"

Cullen shook his head.

"Huh… Good girl."

"… You should talk to her, you know? She's worried you might be leaving."

"I know," Varric nodded, "I will… As should you, by the way."

"Yeah," Cullen sighed, "I know."

They sat in silence as they finished their drinks. Just as the dwarf raised his hand to signal for more, the door to the tavern opened.

Elsa stood in the opening with Dorian and Bull behind her, her hair blowing in the summer storm brewing outside. She searched around with a frantic look in her eyes until Dorian nudged her arm and pointed in their direction. She turned her head, equal parts anger and relief registering on her face as her eyes locked with his. They came towards their corner, Bull tilting his head to avoid the wooden beams in the ceiling, and stopped at the table.

"I was worried," she sighed, "I thought that maybe… Please don't do that again."

"Sorry," Cullen murmured.

"Are you — you didn't…?"

"No… I'm alright."

"Drunk though," Varric added.

Elsa turned to the dwarf, for whom her expression softened much more. "Varric…" She shook her head. Bull placed a large hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. "I'm so sorry," she continued, rallying herself. "I… made the decision. Hawke. She wanted Stroud to rebuild the Wardens, but I —"

"Sterling," Varric said quietly, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. "It's alright."

"No!" she cried, "It's not — it's shit! After everything she did for me. After what they fucking did! I should have —"

"You did what she wanted."

Cullen looked between them — Elsa staring down on the dwarf as she bit back her emotions, him looking up at her with nothing but understanding. If he had been unsure before of the extent to which Varric cared for her, witnessing that moment erased any lingering doubts he might still have had. The dwarf held out his arm to her, inviting her to come closer. Tears rolled down her face as she sat beside him, pulling her feet up on the bench. She put her arms around his waist and he buried her within his. He whispered something to her Cullen couldn't hear, to which she laughed softly and said something in return. Then, for a long moment after, both closed their eyes and simply held each other.

Dorian sat down next to Cullen, who gladly moved over for a reason to offer some privacy to the pair across the table. Bull left and reappeared not long after, carrying a full set of fresh drinks, and pushed his way in as well. Cullen talked with them for a while, hearing their stories of when they'd been away. Varric and Elsa had retreated into quiet conversation on his other side, holding hands as her head rested on his shoulder.

Eventually Dorian raised his mug to the table, a gesture silently mirrored by the rest of them.

"To Hawke," he said, for once with little trace of humour in his eyes, "All-round renegade and first-rate friend."

"Thanks, Sparkler… Nicely said."

"A class act," Bull murmured in assent, "Fucking hot too."

Varric barked a laugh, while the mage sighed, "Bull… must you really?"

"That's alright, Dorian," Cullen chuckled, "She would agree."

"Of course she would," Bull nodded. "Lady knew her strengths."

"To Hawke," Elsa said quietly. "Made everyone better. One way or another."

"Almost, Sterling."

She smiled faintly. "One fucking way or another."

"There you go," Varric said approvingly, putting his arm around her. "To her next adventure."

"Her next adventure," they echoed.

Drinks were pushed together and downed quickly after, mugs slamming on the table in rhythmic sequence. They were soon replaced with more as they continued to reminisce. Any stories lost all cohesion by the time light began to reach them through the window panes. The atmosphere was a pleasant one, though perhaps not as joyful as she might have wanted it to be. Given the circumstances, however, Cullen wagered it would have earned her approval nonetheless.

He looked beside him, to the space between him and Varric she might have occupied had she been there. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe his fatigue, a combination of both, or… perhaps something more. For a brief moment he saw her sitting there, drink in hand and a carefree smile on her face, looking at a lost templar recruit as if he was the most interesting person in the world. She tilted her head, listening with pleasure as he answered her questions though saying nothing of consequence. A warmth spread through him, radiating gently from her arm pressing against his.

No prayer came to mind that made sense to recite — perhaps for him, but not for her. Instead he simply whispered his final words to her, hoping they would reach her even if she wasn't there to hear them.

"Thank you… for everything."

He didn't notice the tears falling from his eyes until a sturdy hand grabbed his shoulder. Cullen looked up to find Varric and Elsa looking at him. The dwarf gave him a reassuring pat on the back, then let go when Elsa got up and unsteadily squeezed past him to fill the empty space. She snuggled herself under his arm and smiled, full of affection, in that way that made his heart beat faster. Hawke's smile had done that once upon a time, looking through that recruit and at the awkward boy within, teasing him out from under the anger weighing him down. Elsa saw neither of those. Instead, she smiled at the man that boy had desperately been trying to become. The one fighting against the chains that kept him from leaving that anger behind for good. The one she believed him to be even if he couldn't see it, for he knew the ugly truth lying underneath.

"Do you know who you are now?"

She blinked, then squinted a little to focus her gaze on him. "What?"

"Before you left. Hawke said… you told her you don't know who you are. Did you figure it out?"

Her smile faded as she thought. "Not completely," she said eventually, "but more than I did before."

"I see."

"I'd like to know more about you."

She said it with such simplicity, a sense of childlike wonder, that it made him laugh. He hadn't often seen her intoxicated, not like this, though it seemed to be not as new of an experience for the others. Something _had_ changed while they were away — perhaps in a way that Hawke had intended. If it was, the least he could do was follow her last piece of advice… and stop running.

"Alright," he said quietly. "What do you wish to know?"


	46. Quiet Conversation

Somewhere in a forgotten corner of Orlais, ignored by all but the few who lived there, the wind had died down and made way for a gentle dawn. Cullen put down his drink and stretched his arms overhead, the morning light casting a glow over his face and the triangle of skin peeking out from under his white linen shirt. Elsa loved that shirt… or, rather, _those_ shirts. She imagined it wasn't always the same one, though she wouldn't know until she gave him that cupboard space he'd requested. Though she'd managed to sharpen her mind a little bit, shaking off the alcohol, she couldn't help but let her thoughts wander as she watched him. Maker… he was beautiful. More so, by some miracle, they were both still alive… and they were together again. An overwhelming sense of appreciation welled within her at that realisation, like a sea of blossoms sprouting to life on a spring morning.

He dropped his hands to his side as he turned to her and smiled, sending a flutter through her chest. After the day, it felt like an eternity since their single evening together. It was hard to believe now, how little time they'd had until the morning had roughly torn them apart again. _Not again_, she told herself. _Not for a long time._

"You must be exhausted."

He tilted his head a little, his eyes flicking up to the sky as he assessed his state. "I think I've broken through simple exhaustion and emerged on the other side," he mused, "I am something else now."

His scar twitched mischievously and she laughed. It felt strange to do so — wrong even, in a way. It would be a while until that would no longer be the case, if it would ever return to normal. Somehow it didn't feel like it could, though she expected it would be sooner than she could now anticipate. That thought made her feel even worse, yet within it… she was grateful for the brief lightness that it brought. Cullen picked up his mug again and took her hand with his free one. They moved to the stables, where he sat them down on a bale of hay. He didn't touch his neck when they did, like she might have expected him to. Instead he simply looked out over the horizon, his near empty drink hanging idly in his hand.

"So…"

"So…" She stroked a lock of hair behind her ear, unsure where to start. "Question game?"

He huffed a laugh. "I'm not sure it goes with the topic."

"Perhaps not… but it might feel a bit more balanced," Elsa shrugged. "There must be some things you don't know about me yet."

"Fair enough… Do you want to start?"

She nodded, but stayed silent for some time after. Taking the pressure off him was one of the reasons why she suggested the game, silly as it was. The other was that, despite him being the one on display, she was feeling oddly nervous about the conversation. Now that she was on the brink of it, suddenly she wasn't sure why she'd felt it so important they should have it. There were so many topics she hadn't touched before, yet knowing where to start wasn't easy. It was easy enough with most people — ask a few questions and they simply started talking. Especially nobles without real problems, who loved nothing more than to hear themselves speak. But she'd never had this kind of conversation, especially not with someone like Cullen… someone with true darkness in his past. Asking him about things she knew he'd rather not talk about…. what kind of a conversation was this going to be? And how much better would it be if she wasn't still tipsy?

"Alright…" she said eventually, "Why did you leave?"

His brow rose at that inquiry. Apparently he'd expected her to go straight to the heart of the matter.

"Today was… difficult," he murmured. "I didn't sleep much… it affected me. Seeing everyone we lost… Hawke. Then the lyrium everywhere… it was too much. Cassandra talked me down, but I had to get out for a while."

"You… talked to Cassandra?" Elsa asked. She didn't want to feel jealous right now, but… "Why not me?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. A single curl fell loose over his forehead, tugging itself free from the golden mane that was wavier than usual after the long day. "She and I had an agreement before you joined us, and I… never meant for this to interfere. Not with my work… not with us."

"But I asked you to be honest with me," she objected. "Yesterday! Did that not mean anything?"

"It does," he asserted, putting his drink aside as he took her hand. "But you — Forgive me, I shouldn't have left without saying anything… but you tell me it's hard to watch me go through this on a normal day. After today? I couldn't add to your distress, seeing the state you were in."

"You don't —" She'd made to object, but his words caught her in her own contradictions. "I… didn't mean it like that. We could have supported each other today. _You_ supported me, but you didn't even give me the chance to return that favour."

"Elsa," he said quietly, dropping his gaze to her hand now gripping his own. "Forgive me… Can't you see I don't _want_ you to return this favour? The burden you already bear… I should be making it easier, not harder."

"I thought we agreed there's not much of a choice in the matter as long as we're together, Cullen," Elsa said sternly, pulling her hand from his grasp, "Unless you want to change _that_, there is no use repeating the same point. However hard it might have been, I assure you that not knowing what was going on was worse."

"… I'm sorry."

Elsa gripped her knees as she looked out over the surrounding hills. She'd been angrier than she thought at him leaving. Though she'd put it aside while they were with the others, now it came bubbling up again. The ride towards the tavern had been agony. The thought of him in a ditch somewhere, with a philter and a stolen dose… How many times hadn't she come across Nic like that? She wouldn't have been able to bear it if that was Cullen instead. It sickened her to imagine it, to see that haze in his eyes that had been absent for as long as she knew him. He was different from the rest of them. If suddenly he hadn't been… no, she wasn't sure how she would have reacted to that.

_Calm down…_ There was little point in getting upset with him now. He hadn't tried to worry her, quite the opposite, yet she felt hurt nonetheless. The idea that he would trust Cassandra with his concerns and not her…

The breeze brushed across the sandy dunes, sending a ripple through the long yellow grasses that thrived in the heat. The tavern lay along a dusty road, barely more than a track and only capable of accommodating two riders travelling alongside each other. She hadn't come this way with her team, but it didn't look much different from the route they had travelled. Images from her journey flashed through her memory — riding through the wasteland with Hawke while she corrected her casting, explained how to harness particular spells… or simply laughed when she accidentally lit a bush on fire in the dry heat.

She smiled to herself, something which caused Cullen to stir in the corner of her vision. There was a lot she hadn't told him about yet. Most of it, really. There hadn't been time… but neither had she been sure how.

"I… suppose I can't blame you," she sighed. "I did the same to you on the road after all."

Cullen glanced in her direction, a muscle in his jaw tensing under his skin. "You did, I suppose. I barely know a thing that happened to you… though I hope it would have been different if I had been there."

"Perhaps," Elsa considered, "You would have seen things for yourself of course, but I wasn't very open with the others either at first. Besides… I left Skyhold for a reason. To figure things out by myself… to learn to get by without your protection."

"Honestly," he sighed, "I can't say for sure it wasn't the right decision to keep me in the dark on the details. I might have responded poorly to some of it while we were apart, I… can't know for sure."

"And I can't know for sure how I would have responded today, if you came to me instead of Cassandra… but we won't know until we both try next time."

"True." He took her hand again and this time she did not pull away. His fingers locked themselves with hers, squeezing lightly. "So…" he asked, a faint smile teasing his lips, "Promise you will?"

"I do… You?"

"Yeah. I promise."

The hills woke slowly, stirred to life by the trill of birds and the rustling of small wildlife in the undergrowth. Deep circles lined his eyes, emphasising the laugh lines he'd interpreted as signs of age when they were at the Winter Palace. Perhaps they were, though she didn't see them as such. They were simply a part of him, something that alluded to his true character, the gentle man beneath the Commander's hardened veneer. Thank the Maker he seemed alright now, despite his obvious fatigue. While she hadn't been able to be there for him, at least he'd found a way to cope himself.

"How were you…" she asked, "while I was away?"

"Isn't that a second question?"

His smirk was disarming, no less effective than the first time he'd used it on her. She giggled despite the heaviness of the conversation, feeling his thumb lovingly brush the backs of her fingers.

"It is. You'll get doubles after."

"Dangerous move, my lady." Cullen raised his head, searching his thoughts. "I was… fine, actually."

Deep lines creased his forehead as he continued to think. He seemed as surprised by this confession as she was. Though she was happy if it was true, she also felt a little deflated. He'd seemed to rely on her company so much back in Skyhold, had been visibly upset in the days leading up to her departure. It had been the main reason why she'd been worried for him while she was away… Had she overestimated her own importance to him?

"That's good… right?"

"It is…" He looked up rather suddenly, his hand tensing around hers. "Don't get me wrong," he said quickly, "I missed you. More than you know. Every minute of every day, but… personally, I've been a lot worse. Maybe it's time passing, or… maybe what I was doing. I was preparing the troops, travelling… less paperwork. The opposite from before the ball, really. Maybe… maybe that made a difference."

Elsa breathed a short laugh. "For someone who rejected a life of farming, you sure sound like those who have not."

"How do you mean?"

"Most farmers that work our lands are extremely practical people," she explained, "Most craftsmen too, really — carpenters, smiths… the lot. They just want to do their job well, not bother with politics or be weighed down with bureaucracy. Unfortunately that is usually what people like me need to bother them with, though I like to think I had decent enough relations with them. For my part I always I enjoyed the interaction, at least."

"I'm sure you managed to charm them much like you did me."

The sweet look he gave her was enough to erase her doubts at not being needed while she'd been away. On a rational level, she understood what he meant well enough. After all, she had experienced it herself in coming to the Inquisition. She didn't mind the formalities that he despised and, frankly, she was a lot better at them. But although she could appreciate them in a way that he could not, the visible results of her more hands-on efforts were undeniably more gratifying.

"Are you happy in your job?" she asked, feeling her brow furrow. "I mean… the higher you climb, the less of this type of work you tend to do. To make matters worse, in your case it is only when we go to battle."

"… Third question?"

"Sub-question!" she argued, holding up a warning finger, "You introduced those."

"That I did," he laughed. The smile lingered on his face as he looked to the ground, his shoulders rising with his breath, then dissipated. "I believe in what we do," he said slowly, careful to choose the right words, "and I wouldn't want to be in any other position while this is going on. Truthfully, it has been so long since there hasn't been some shadow hanging over my work that this is still miles better than it was, but… I get a lot more satisfaction out of leading training sessions than meetings about resources and requisitions." He looked to her again, evidently worried he'd offended her. "Were it not that you are there, of course."

"It's okay, love," she assured him, squeezing his hand, "I just want to understand."

"Right…" The gold in his irises flickered in the sun as he searched her face. "Sorry, I… haven't had any close relationships for years, let alone… I am not sure what is alright to say or do. What is normal… you know?"

"Me neither," she sighed, "but our circumstances aren't normal, are they? I suppose we just need to figure out our own way, rather than worry about what other people do."

"Yeah," he said, huffing a small chuckle, "As always, you're very wise."

"I learned a lot recently. Hawke… was a good teacher."

"I'm sure she was…" He breathed deeply with an audible exhale, perhaps in an attempt to ward off a surge of emotion. Then he looked up, a sudden lightness flickering back to life on his face. "In case you were still wondering… she and Varric were never… together, you know?" He made quotes in the air to emphasise 'together' with his free hand. "I asked him before."

"Ah," Elsa laughed softly, "Yeah, I figured as much. I didn't ask, but it was clear seeing them together longer. Speaking of unconventional — they just… had something that worked for them." She looked away to hide the sudden mistiness in her eyes. Sadness was easily drawn back to the surface… even if Varric had forgiven her, part of her knew it would never erase her own guilt. "It was beautiful."

Cullen let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulders instead. She wrapped herself around his waist instinctively, snuggling into his warmth. It wasn't hot outside yet, though with the sun steadily climbing the sky it wouldn't be long until it would be. Fall would be just around the corner by the time they got back to Skyhold… she already looked forward to using him as her personal furnace in their cold quarters.

"Do you have a question for me?" she mumbled into his neck. "Before I continue my streak?"

"Ah… I can think of one, if you want."

"Take your time."

His fingers traced up and down her spine as he held her. It sent shivers tingling across her skin, spurring on both her tiredness and the lingering effects of alcohol to help her relax into his embrace. It was difficult to decide what she'd missed more about him, but that feeling was high on the list. She'd curled up beside Varric on a few occasions while out camping, when it was particularly cold or if she was feeling lonely. Other times Hawke had thrown herself onto her roll instead, usually somewhat inebriated and generally taking up far more space than necessary. Despite that, it had been better than lying on the hard ground by herself night upon night. Neither quite compared to the feeling of Cullen against her, though she wondered if it was the same for him… she should probably check next time he was lying on the ground and she used him as a pillow.

"Varric mentioned a desire demon," Cullen said eventually, his hands slowly coming to a halt on her back. "What happened there?"

"Ah…" She cleared her throat, shifting a little against him. "It, eh… was involved in the red lyrium production in Sahrnia. We killed it."

"It tried to tempt you?"

"… Yes."

"With?"

"Money and power first. Then… curing you of lyrium addiction."

She could feel his confusion from the way his muscles tensed against her, even without being able to see it on his face. "Why… there wasn't anything else it could think of? Is that…" He pushed her back a little to look at her. It wasn't just puzzlement… there was a hint of annoyance there as well. "I know I haven't been forthcoming about some things, but you've been _that_ affected by this? And you never said a word?"

"I told you, I didn't really realise until I was gone," she sighed, scratching her ear, "Also, I think that demon just honed in on something I was concerned with in that moment, you know? Made it bigger than it is on a day-to-day basis?"

Cullen continued to stare at her with reproach, but his indignation softened soon after. "Yeah… I can imagine that."

"… Have you —"

She reconsidered and looked away. He'd muttered things in his sleep, enough for her to piece together some things about the past he was so desperate to hide. Did she really want to know more?

"In Ferelden's Circle." His voice sounded far away, carrying a strange clarity. He wasn't looking at her when she looked back. Instead he stared off into the hills, his hands drifting down her arms until they lay loosely on top of hers. "You might've heard some of it already from Varric or Hawke. I met them not that long after it happened and sort of… blurted half of it out."

"I didn't ask them," Elsa said quietly, "but I remember hearing about it after it happened. The general events, not… your experience, of course."

"Makes sense. Kirkwall's Order was buzzing when I arrived as well. But… you must have been a child back then."

"Twelve, thirteen? Old enough to understand."

"Right…"

"You were… nineteen?"

"Eighteen when I was stationed there," he nodded, "after finishing training. Nineteen when the Blight began."

"Myca was that age."

Cullen's brow rose in surprise. "Oh… I suppose he must've been, huh?"

She nodded. Myca was still just a boy in her mind. Cullen, while probably always having been of a more serious disposition than her brother, couldn't have been that much more mature at the time his Circle was overrun. "That's still really young as well… to go through something like that."

"They…" His hand travelled the well-trodden trajectory to his neck and lingered there, absentmindedly calming his nerves. "Thinking back on it, it's like what you just said. Them honing in on something that feels big at the time? Back then, I had an… infatuation. Solona Amell… the Warden who ended the Blight."

That much Elsa had managed to gather, if not from the occasional nightly mutters then from rumours buzzing around Haven concerning both Cullen's and Leliana's past. She was glad at that… it might have been more difficult to hear about it otherwise, without preparation. "She must have been an impressive person, if she managed that."

"She was… lovely. Still is, I assume, though she's probably changed as well. She was a bit older than I was — talented, confident, very composed. Myself, on the other hand…" He laughed. "If you think I've been awkward around you, I assure you it was a lot worse then. I'm surprised I ever managed to utter a full sentence to her. If I had met you at the time, I might've turned tail and run."

"It can't have been that bad," Elsa giggled, imagining him fleeing from a girl in full templar gear. "Though the idea is rather cute."

"Oh, it was… that bad, I mean." He smiled warmly for a fleeting moment. Then it faded, a shift in the air clouding his eyes despite the clear sky above their heads. "I had to think last night, while you were asleep… how I would have been to you if I'd known you before. It might have been cute before the Circle fell, but after…" He shook his head. "In Kirkwall, I would never have given you a chance."

Elsa could imagine what they'd done to him to make that change happen… there was little reason for him to spell it out. Hawke hadn't felt the need to elaborate either the time they discussed it at Lake Calenhad – it was obvious. Blood mages and abominations, only one surviving templar who had been sent to the Free Marches to 'mellow out' sometime after. He'd been kept for days, if not more, having Maker knows what done to him during that time. That was what she had heard back then, in various shapes and forms – a story told among templars and anyone else who would listen to emphasise the need for mage oversight. Even if parts had been exaggerated, Cullen's avoidance suggested there was enough truth in there as well. Years later, however, the connection between that tale and those of Kirkwall's Knight-Captain rebelling against his Commander had been lost within the dregs of gossip and hearsay. Indeed, she herself hadn't begun to make the connection between the two until Leliana had given it away.

"Did you treat mages badly?" she asked, making sure to keep her tone neutral.

"I did as I was ordered, but… for years I thought I was doing the right thing. That it was necessary. Restraining mages to confinement, suppressing their powers more easily and with less cause than before… resorting to violence when the Order seemed to be under threat, which was often in Kirkwall. Back in Ferelden I was told I might be too friendly with the mages… I promised myself that was a mistake I would never make again."

"… Yet here we are."

"Yes," he said quietly, "here we are. The things I feel for you… whatever crush I had on Solona pales in comparison. It sickens me to think I might not have given us a chance, if certain things hadn't changed."

"But they did change, didn't they? In the end you turned against Meredith."

"Far too late," he sighed, "and after I had done far too much else."

Elsa took a deep breath, while Cullen sat solemnly beside her. He was waiting for her verdict, to see whether she was okay with his. Honestly… she wasn't sure what to think. Until recently, she didn't consider much wrong at all with how the Order had managed mages before its demise, even if she'd been aware of some of the seedier practices that went on. Based on the rumours, her brothers had expressed relief that they weren't stationed in Kirkwall. Yet they had also spoken with admiration of how Meredith kept the troublesome city in check… at least until the end. After that, every templar in the vicinity was suddenly eager to state how they'd seen her madness coming for years and how it had been heralded by her barbaric practices that they would never resort to themselves. For Elsa, bad stories from the Circles were just that at the time… stories. Someone else's concern, not hers. But once this war would be over and things might return to normal? That would no longer be the case.

"How do you feel now?" she asked. "When this ends… the Chantry will likely try to restore its power. What should happen to mages?"

He searched her face. She'd surprised him, something she always enjoyed doing. He'd probably expected her to dig into further details, help him beat himself up over his past behaviour more than he'd already done well enough on his own over the years. But why would she? Unless she wanted to leave him, which she did not… what was the point? What she wanted was to get back to Skyhold with the man he'd been these past months, a man who had been nothing but good to her, and make space in her wardrobe for his things — as long as that was who he would be in the future as well.

"I… don't know. Clearly we shouldn't go back to the old system, not without significant changes. But… I don't think mages should go without oversight completely." His eyes flicked away and then back to her, uneasy in staying on her face. "There _is_ serious risk of possession… and abuse. Even with good intentions."

"What would you suggest?"

"I'm not sure… maybe a mixed military service. Or supervised healing clinics. Help mages have an active role in the world if they want to, keep the Circles as academies for those who dedicate themselves to teaching and research."

It sounded like a solution and a sensible one at that — one spoken out of concern for the inherent risks that magic posed to the larger population. The sentiment of a templar, to be sure, but a reasonable one rather than a tortured soul who saw abominations lurking in every corner. It required more considerate thought… but she liked it as a foundation.

"What of a partner? Or a family member?" she asked finally. "If you had a child who was a mage? Is that something you would want for them?"

He stared at her, eyes wide. "You… no one can make you go anywhere you don't want to after we're successful in stopping Corypheus."

"I'm not talking of myself. Hawke thought I could do something… and I don't think it was just to take down Corypheus. I will not let all this," she explained, gesturing around her, "to have happened simply for things to go back to the way they were. I only thought of my own situation then, but we have influence now. I want to do something meaningful with it… for everyone."

A sharp line nestled itself in his forehead. His chest rose in a contained sigh, stretching the fabric of his shirt ever so slightly. The wardrobe in the corner would make a good place for that shirt… Maker, the alcohol was still here, wasn't it? She shook her head, refocusing on his face. He hadn't been distracted, for he still looked at her intently, then nodded.

"I would not want our child to be taken away from us, without any choice on where she might be taken," he said resolutely. "Neither mage nor templar should have to separate themselves from their family so completely. If mixed facilities would exist, there should be a local school were she could learn until she was old enough to choose where she'd want to go. If it was safe for her to live with us while she attends, then that should be a possibility."

Elsa found herself getting distracted again, though not by his shirt this time. "Our… child?"

"Oh." The sound escaped him, then lingered on his face as his mouth retained the shape of the vowel in shock. "I didn't… I'm sorry, I thought you meant —"

"It's alright," she laughed, "I mean… a little early. Do you think of that?"

"Not until now," he groaned, scratching his neck in frustration. "I thought that's what you were talking about."

"But… it'd be a 'she', would it?" Elsa teased.

"Yeah, rub it in, will you?" His laughter broke through his embarrassment and he shook his head. "Maker… See? I have no issue continuing to make a fool of myself in front of women."

"As long as it's mainly me these days."

Her hair, longer again than after she'd asked him to help her cut it, had fallen over her shoulder. He brushed it back, letting the tips of his fingers trace over her skin as he did. She shivered, making him smile.

"Only you," he said assuringly, "No doubt about it."

"Good." She shifted on the bale of hay, snuggling under his arm. "Then we have nothing to worry about, do we?"

"Really?" he asked, disbelieving. "We don't? I mean…my past. You're okay with it?"

"You never tried to take Hawke into the Circle did you?" She smiled at the idea of him attempting such a thing. Undoubtedly the mage would have wrecked the city in the process.

"No."

"Even though you knew she was a mage?"

"Yeah… I didn't want to. It wasn't right."

"Doesn't that say enough then?"

"I… I mean, I'm glad if it does. But just because I treated one mage with some respect, doesn't —"

"Cullen." She took his face in her hands, feeling his soft stubble as she brushed her thumbs along the line of his jaw. He relaxed into her, tilting his head to nestle himself in one of her palms. "If she stuck with you when you were at your worst," she said quietly, "how in the world could I be anything but grateful when I have you at your best?"


	47. Dream

**Mildly NSFW**

* * *

The whinnying of horses echoed through the town, accompanied by the percussion of footsteps and steel striking steel. Elsa looked across the frozen lake, feeling content at seeing the scar in the sky, barely visible during the day, lying calmly among the clouds.

Someone came to stand beside her, but she didn't look at once. She didn't often experience the sense of peace that Haven brought, now that the Breach had been healed. Just for a little while, she did not want to see it disrupted. Cullen was down below, training among his recruits. He was happy doing that — it was obvious for anyone to see, even without him telling her so. His eyes were alight with a gentle concentration, reflecting his smile as he corrected a woman's stance. A calming thought came to her in that moment, one she couldn't recall ever having had before.

Everything was as it should be.

"Inquisitor."

Elsa finally turned to the person beside her. Solas was watching her with interest, a hint of a smirk playing on his face.

"Solas," she greeted, lightly inclining her head. "Beautiful day."

His smile widened at that. "Indeed. Almost too beautiful, wouldn't you say?"

He continued to look at her with his eyebrows slightly raised, amusement twinkling in his narrow eyes. Elsa frowned and looked back out over the lake. Below them, Cullen moved to the next recruit and gave the boy an encouraging pat on the shoulder. He turned, briefly locked eyes with her, and indicated how long he'd still be before they could have dinner. It was followed by a gesture, indicating two points somewhere behind her with a flick of his finger.

_Tavern or quarters tonight?_

Elsa followed where he'd pointed and looked to her… cabin? How had they managed that before? More importantly… how was she going to make space for his things in there? That place wasn't enough to hold her own wardrobe, let alone his as well… yet she'd promised she would. The thought came to her suddenly and with great urgency, sparking a hint of panic. She wanted him to feel welcome… but how was she going to fit it all?

_Hold on…_

She turned her attention back to Solas, whose expression of mild amusement had not changed. "How did I get here?"

"To Haven? I assume you came on horseback."

"No," she objected, shaking her head. "I mean, right now… Here. I was in Orlais before."

"You were," he acknowledged.

"And we don't live here anymore… It was destroyed."

"It was."

He didn't seem disturbed by that at all. What a strange man he continued to be… "Solas," she said, a little more urgently, "where are we?"

"Where you brought us, Inquisitor."

Cullen had continued his rounds, undisturbed by the fact that she'd ignored his silent question. It was a little discrepancy, but enough out of character to help her see the surroundings for what they were. "This is a dream," she stated, looking around with wonder, "it's not real."

"Real is debatable," Solas mused.

"Right…"

She began to walk around, investigating this version of Haven. The books Solas made her read at the start of their training spoke of how dreams were constructed. Spirits set the stage, as it were, shaping the foundation for it to be filled with people's thoughts and memories. For some reason, they had conjured the mountain town for her. It looked extremely real, though emptier than she remembered it to be. It was as if the spirits had only reconstructed the utmost surface layer of it, leaving out any of the small details that made it truly come to life.

"Wait… we've been here before, haven't we?"

"We have," Solas replied, following after her. "Though it took you longer to realise it the last times. For some reason you keep bringing us here."

"I wonder why," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "It's odd though… Cullen never gestured like that to me here."

"He has made inquiries like that in Skyhold, I imagine? This is a dream, not a memory. It is bound to be inaccurate."

"Skyhold," she sighed, happy the name had returned to her. It had been on her mind constantly on the road… how could she have forgotten? "Of course. Are you there already?"

"No, but I am on my way back as well. Not far behind you, probably, or I doubt we would have met here tonight."

Elsa reached for the fence and was greeted with rough, splintered wood under her palm. She'd almost expected it to vaporise upon her touch, or for her to simply pass through it like an apparition. Instead, it was as solid as if she were touching the real thing. She turned back to Solas, who had fallen silent behind her. A solemnity appeared on his face, one as intense as his anger had been at Adamant.

"Oh…" The events of the days preceding this moment slowly returned to her as she looked at him. A pride demon… or spirit, bound against its will by a group of mages… Solas' anger when she stopped him from exacting his revenge. "I'm sorry — you wanted to be alone."

"I did," he conceded, "but you do not need to worry. I went to sleep somewhere quiet to visit the place where my friend used to be."

"Did you… find something there?"

He shook his head. "It was empty."

"… I'm sorry."

He inclined his head slightly, appreciative of her inquiry, and she allowed a short moment of respectful silence before she turned back to examine their surroundings. Though she didn't quite understand his relationship with the spirit, she didn't doubt he felt the loss as keenly as she was feeling her own recent ones. His were just… more unorthodox.

"If you don't mind my asking," she said carefully, reaching down to touch the snow. It was cold and wet, like how one would expect snow to be. "Did something happen while we tried to help your friend? When we destroyed those summoning stones maybe? Is that why we keep coming here now?"

"I do not mind," he said lightly, the sadness slowly lifting from his sharp features, "But no, not that I am aware of. After all, the first time it happened was before we made our detour."

Elsa frowned, frustrated with her foggy memory. He was right — the first time they'd had such a strange meeting was shortly after they began the journey home with the army. Some days into their trip he'd come to her, asking for a favour — a favour that required a detour to the Exalted Plains on their way back.

"Sorry," she sighed, "it's still hard to think clearly in this state. It's an odd sensation…"

"That is to be expected. I am still surprised you are able to visit me here at all. It is a rare talent for mages." Solas' eyes drifted to her hand, "Perhaps the mark acts as a catalyst for you to do so."

Elsa looked at it as well. The mark was as silent as the scar in the sky. He was probably right about that as well — if this was something few mages could do, the anchor was likely contributing somehow. That was good… she could use that.

Something shifted in the elf's stance as she thought this. His shoulders stiffened a little and he straightened himself up. "Can _you_ think of a reason why we keep coming here?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he observed her more closely. "Do you set any intent before you fall asleep?"

She stared at him, quickly realising she was staying silent for too long. It had all come back to her now — where she'd been and what she'd been doing before she ended up here… and she was fairly certain he wouldn't approve.

Was he in her head? Could he already see the things she wasn't saying? No… that wasn't it. If he could, then why would he ask? And why would he be looking just a little bit annoyed right now?

_Should I lie?_

_… No bullshit. Cards on the table._

Did that extend to Solas? She was certain there were things he didn't share with them… but it didn't change that he was a part of the Inquisition. No, she shouldn't start picking and choosing who in her circle she extended this new policy to — it would be too easy to get pulled back into old habits.

"I think… I am trying to search for Hawke," she confessed. "Not because I want to enter the Fade. Just… to find her."

His irises shrank a fraction, hardening his expression like a guard dog assessing a threat. With a short breath through his nose it then relaxed back to what it was before, a strange mix of curiosity and understanding.

"What you are trying to do has not been done before," he said gently, "I have searched the Fade, asked the spirits I can trust for help. But to search for something _physical_ in there, if —"

"_If_ she is even alive, I know," Elsa sighed. "Solas, I know it might be wasted effort, but I'm sorry — I am going to try, even if I don't know how. She wouldn't want me to waste my energy while Corypheus is around, but if I am sleeping anyway… I will try what I can. If it hasn't been done before, we don't know what's possible."

"I… admire your conviction. You are dedicated to your friend."

"She did a lot for me, but really… it's for Varric. Even if I can't get her back, maybe I can find something… I don't know, that brings closure somehow. Besides, if I learn to understand the Fade in the process, surely it can only help me become a better mage?"

She gave him a hopeful look — nothing seemed to please him more than when she showed an interest in spirits or the Fade. Even if he'd shut her down before, this might go a whole lot smoother if he did decide to help her out…

Solas looked her over a while longer. "Very well," he said eventually, "You did everything you could to help me… As long as you swear you won't try to use the mark to go back there yourself, I will return the favour."

She held up her scarred hand. "I swear I won't, even if I knew how."

"Good. Then we'll discuss the details next time."

"Next time?"

He turned his attention to a point above their heads and she followed his example. The sun was bright, rapidly intensifying in radiance as it cast a glow upon the snowy hills. Cullen's hair shone like liquid gold, then gradually bloomed to a blinding white that blurred her vision. Soon there was nothing left but a tranquil emptiness with only Solas remaining within, who smiled knowingly at her confusion.

"It's morning," Elsa concluded.

"It is," he acknowledged, "Time to wake up."

o - o - o

Elsa opened her eyes with a start, rousing the person behind her as her body jerked awake. The sun was rising outside, streaming directly onto her face through a gap in the tent cover. Cullen moaned softly, turning onto his side to wrap her in his arms as he lay his bare form against hers.

"Bad dream?"

"No," Elsa said quietly, absentmindedly stroking his arm, "Just… a little intense. How did you sleep?"

"Just fine," he sighed into her hair, "I missed you."

She smiled and turned to face him. "You've said that every morning since we got back together."

"It's true every morning."

He rolled her onto her back, pushed her legs out with his knees, and nestled himself between them. His arms were firm against her sides, cradling her in their strength, as his hands slipped under her shoulders and into her hair. He kissed her, carefully testing her response with soft brushes against her lips, until she wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him closer. The pressure roused her core, intensifying with a rush when he began to move his hips. With every push he clouded her mind further, until eventually it was consumed with thoughts of him alone.

It had been like this since she saw him again in the desert — messy hair, several-day scruff, rolled up sleeves, sweat pearling on his exposed chest as he stood in the sun talking to Rylen. She couldn't quite put her finger on what was different… but something undoubtedly was.

The first time, it had simply happened. Relatively quick, rather unassuming, and slightly uncomfortable, yet… pleasant nonetheless. She hadn't lied a word as she told Varric about it — there simply hadn't been much else to say. It had improved since then, though she still hadn't considered it _Swords and Shields_ material. They'd both been careful, taking their time to get comfortable with one another. By the time they returned from the Winter Palace that comfort had finally been established, and he'd grown a little more audacious with each foray that followed.

But… it was nothing to how they'd been since starting the journey back to Skyhold. It didn't take much convincing for him to place their tent away from the rest of the camp. Every night, as well as most mornings, she'd been upon him, something he received with little objection. Suddenly, he only had to give her a look for her mind to fill in the blanks, for her hands to want to claw themselves into his back, for the fire to spread into her fingers, her toes, and…

Did recent events have anything to do with it? She'd read once that birthrates tended to soar after a war or otherwise tragic occurrence… was it her body's survival instinct that sparked this new need? This… hunger?

He pulled out of their heated kiss, looking at her through hazy eyes while his hips remained flush against hers. "You okay? You seem distracted."

"Yeah," she said quickly. "I'm fine. Great."

"You sure? We don't have to, you know? It's quite late… we slept in."

"Come on," she urged him, biting her lip as she gave him a tug with her legs. "Like they can leave without us."

"Alright," he laughed softly, shifting his position.

Her breath quickened in anticipation and her body quivered under his touch, waiting as he teased her for what felt like an eternity, until he finally gave her what she'd been craving. Her desire broke like a dam, devolving into a chorus of moans under the rhythm of his movement.

"Must be some dreams you're having," he breathed in her ear, "Waking up like this."

"Fuck… don't — just, ah —" She bit down on his shoulder to keep herself from crying out. "Shut up — Not related… not at all."

Cullen laughed warmly, then broke down with a heavy groan as she tightened her legs around him and rolled them over. He couldn't say much else as she sat on top of him, his fingers digging into her hips as she took control of his pleasure together with her own. There was something strangely tantalising about seeing him look up at her, his amber eyes both dark with lust and filled with wonder at the view she provided. It didn't take long for him to pull himself up and hold her close, their foreheads pressed together as they worked towards their peak in unison, neither considering the rationale behind this new-found ritual any longer.

Much as her dreams had been occupying her thoughts, she did not want to think of them now. Perhaps she'd tell him some day, once she knew whether what she wanted to do might actually be accomplished. Until then, she wouldn't raise anyone's expectations… having her own crushed if she should fail would be painful enough.


	48. Home

"It's not going to fit."

"Are you sure? It's not that big."

"Well, maybe it fits, but it's not going to be comfortable. We need space to move."

"… What are you planning here exactly?"

"Cullen," she sighed, rolling her eyes, "We can't live in a land of wardrobes and trunks."

They stood together in one of the rooms adjoining their chambers, assessing the space… what little there was. He considered the possibility of removing the ladder going to the upper level, since neither of them had thought of a use for the loft anyway. It would give a little more space to manoeuvre, though still not a whole lot in between her assortment of cupboards and now his trunk sandwiched between them. He thought it might work the way it was, though he didn't deny it felt somewhat claustrophobic.

In theory, they could use the room on the other side of the bed, but it already had the bathtub… Considering how much she loved to unwind in there, he doubted she would welcome the thought it might get as cluttered there as this room was right now. Additionally, it did not seem very efficient to go back and forth around the bed whenever they had to get dressed.

"There's plenty of space in the main room," he suggested, pointing over his shoulder.

"It's all windows though," Elsa murmured, tapping a finger against her bottom lip, "Very little wall space to work with, unless you want to dismantle the study."

"Surely there's something." He stepped out and looked around. There was wasted space right around the corner. All that was there now was a shallow dresser, on top of which they kept the materials for his extract. Other than that the space was unused, except for some paintings on the wall. "Why not here?" he asked, gesturing for her to join him.

She followed him and looked to where he was pointing.

"Are you attached to those?" Cullen asked as she appraised the pictures. One was of a mountain landscape at dawn, the other of a man on a horse.

"I don't even know how they got there." Elsa observed them a little nonplussed, as if she'd never noticed them before. "Who is that even?"

"No idea," Cullen shrugged, "I thought maybe it was a family member, or something. Can he go, if we don't know who he is?"

"Fine with me. We should give him to Josie though. For all we know he's worth a lot."

"He sure looks like he thinks he is."

They spent a while longer shuffling cupboards and dressers around. Cullen suggested she leave the task to him, though the heavy wardrobes soon proved difficult to move by himself. Yet she declined the suggestion to call for help. Instead she helped push and pull the furniture, like they'd moved the benches in Haven's Chantry, until her hair stuck to her forehead from sweat. Though it took them half of the evening, he could see the importance of doing it themselves rather than let someone under their command handle it for them. Somehow, tackling this task together made it feel much more like home than it had to him up until now.

"There," Elsa said, stretching her back as she overlooked the result of their efforts.

Two large wardrobes, as well as the dresser from the bedroom, were now positioned in the small room. In the main, his trunk, a smaller cupboard, a clothing rack and his armour stand were efficiently organised in the corner. He'd considered keeping the equipment in his office, where it allowed for easier access to change in and out of in between tasks during the day. On the other hand, it made it far more vulnerable to Sera's pranks if left there unsupervised at night. No… he'd make the extra trip upstairs instead.

"Happy?" he asked her.

"As soon as I've sorted through that." Elsa nodded to the mountain of dresses lying on the bed that had emerged when she emptied out the wardrobes. He wasn't quite sure how they'd fit initially — undoubtedly she'd have to get rid of some in order to fit them back in now that he was taking up some of her space. She didn't seem bothered at this prospect however. Instead she turned to him, a faint frown lining her forehead. "Are you? Happy, I mean. Is this… is it okay? You still don't have a lot of space."

In comparison to her, he did not, though it was still a cupboard more than the trunk he'd been living out of in his own tower. Cullen stroked her hair from her damp forehead and wrapped his arms around her waist. She smiled gently, running her hands over his biceps as she let herself be pulled against him.

"I have everything I need," he assured her, rubbing his nose against hers, "and more cupboard space than I will ever fill."

"A bold statement, ser knight," she murmured, "Don't be so sure. My love for clothing might rub off on you yet."

"Why would you want it to? I thought you preferred me shirtless anyway."

"Do I ever," she laughed, "All the more reason you need enough space in here — to store everything you're not allowed to wear."

o - o - o

Life in Skyhold had returned to normal faster than he thought it would. Cullen resumed sleeping in the main tower with Elsa. This, he admitted, was a lot more convenient than up until that point now that he had his things there. They still rose early, though his mornings tended to stretch out a bit longer than they used to. Andraste forgive him… he didn't mind. Afterwards he still tended to head out before her, check in with his lieutenants over breakfast, and see to the morning rounds.

Status meetings resumed their previous scheduling in the middle of the day, often over lunch. To their credit, Leliana and Josephine had not only left the castle standing, but managed it exceedingly well. Additionally, both seemed pleased to have more varied company around them again. It was at one of the meetings that the Ambassador reported being successful in securing further funds through the contacts they'd acquired at the Empress' ball, as well as a variety of other channels. Leliana, in turn, finally had results from her inquiries into Corypheus' second in command, Calpernia, revealing plans of binding her to his will once she became the 'Vessel'… whatever that was supposed to mean. Though Cullen wondered how effective the Spymaster's tactic of sowing dissent among the darkspawn's followers by leaking the information was going to be, he didn't argue with her. For one, she seemed quite on edge since Lady Morrigan had arrived at the keep and he was not inclined to end up on the Nightingale's bad side. Secondly, while they had no idea what their enemy was aiming to do next in the wake of his last defeat, every little bit could only help.

After the meeting adjourned, Cullen's afternoons were once again spent between discussions with his officers and training, though numbers in the keep were sparse for a while following their return. A significant chunk of the army followed behind slower due to lingering injuries, while he had tasked others with taking up positions around Orlais to stabilise the areas that Elsa had been to on her excursion. Reports started coming in quickly, piling up faster than he could work through them on top of the ones that had gathered while he'd been away.

Ah, reports… the final aspect of his duties and the one that he had not missed at all. They'd been the bane of his existence since the start of the Inquisition. He'd largely blamed the lyrium withdrawal, though that excuse was becoming harder to use. The thirst had lessened since the day of the battle and his other symptoms had retreated to the background once again. Yet despite that, he was no more eager to sit down at his desk and handle the mountain of vellum awaiting him.

Some papers were easily worked through, while others continued to take him much longer than they should. Although he kept a handle on them far better than he had before, managing to keep the work from spilling over into his time with Elsa, it began to dawn on him more and more that… No, this was not a fulfilling way to spend his time. The longer he sat there, wrestling through the documents, the more likely his headaches were to flare up, the pressure behind his eyes to intensify, the hum in his mind to swell…

Perhaps he'd known it all along and simply hadn't wished to admit it, telling himself he should consider himself lucky and not complain. Or maybe he really hadn't realised it, not until Elsa had asked him about it. But it was clear now — lyrium or not, there was a significant portion of work in his command position that gave him little to no satisfaction. The parts he did enjoy outweighed it and he was happy to be able to advise the others while they were combating Corypheus, but in the long run… he wouldn't want to continue this forever.

It was odd to think in such terms — forever, the long run, after this is over, one day…

Within the Order, he'd never had the space to plan a future, to look ahead at what might come. Though templars could take a wife and have a family, it wasn't encouraged. Yet even if it had been, he hadn't ever considered it for himself. He'd been too young to imagine such a thing before Ferelden's Circle fell. Afterwards he'd been so consumed by anger that it had never seemed like even a remote possibility, nor that he might meet someone who would want to share such things him.

Now, however, it was no longer such an implausible notion. Early days as it was, he wasn't only considering having a family one day, he was considering changes even more drastic than his decision to leave the Order had been. Their victory against Corypheus was still too far off to think in concrete terms, but their successes so far made his possible options seem far more tangible. If and when such a time would come… he would need to consider what he wanted to do with his life. He was young enough to make other plans, to consider a path in life beyond that of a soldier. It scared him a little to imagine such a thing. Even more than that, he was excited for the options available to him, some of which he couldn't even think of at present.

For the moment, however, there was a report staring at him from some lord asking for — nay, demanding — aid in southern Orlais. Cullen sighed heavily, cracked his neck, and forced his attention back on the piece of paper before him as the sun sank beneath the windows.

o - o - o

Evening remained his favourite time of day. They gathered in the tavern regularly — a little awkwardly the first time in recognition of Hawke's absence. Varric remedied the situation by offering another toast in her honour and somehow finding the cheer to liven up the group like he'd always done, until they settled into a familiar game of cards. Their gatherings lessened after the first week, however, as one of Varric's acquaintances — a woman sharing the same name as his crossbow — arrived to occupy most of his time. While Elsa was highly intrigued by her and the history that had to exist between them, Cullen was simply glad there was someone to distract the dwarf from his recent loss. Until then, he'd seen him staring off into the distance often enough to know the Champion's fate continued to preoccupy him, as it would likely do for many years to come.

So, instead of the tavern, Cullen spent more time in Elsa's… their quarters. She had resumed work with Solas during the day herself. A quick glance at the tomes she brought into the room with her told him she was continuing to specialise in Fade and Spirit magic. He was glad at that… the thought of her turning to necromancy, even as an impulsive fluke, had been rather disturbing.

As the air began to grow colder with the turning of the season, she would huddle in his cloak with her legs beneath the blanket, her nose deep within the dusty books while she sat snuggled against him. He was fine with closing the doors more these days, leaving only a gap to let in some fresh air. It was enough to hear the sounds of the keep at night, to feel the breeze brush against his skin as he lay awake. That remained a common enough occurrence, as did the dreams that would shake him from his slumber. And yet… it was all better than it was before. He would roll to his side and hug her, careful not to wake her. She seemed less prone to that these days and tended to remain fast asleep, even if he woke startled or talking out loud. Perhaps, like him, she'd found a new sense of peace along her journey. Perhaps her dreams brought her that comfort while she was asleep as well.

Maybe, just maybe… one day he would experience that too. It wasn't likely… but the fact that it seemed possible made all the difference.

She would lie in his arms before they fell asleep ever since they'd begun their journey back and they would continue to talk. Even without her asking, he found himself wanting to share details with her he never had with anyone else. With every painful word comprising the history he'd tried to suppress, he found the sting of the memories lessen, their hold over him decline. He told her of the people he knew back in Ferelden — his friends, both templars and mages — and how he had lost them. He told her of things he remembered were done to him and how it had affected him in the years to follow. He didn't go into further detail on how the Circle was run in Kirkwall, nor did she seem inclined to know more. But she listened to everything else, every detail he'd tried so hard to forget, and accepted it all. She was better than any Chantry Mother who had attempted to soothe his temper over the years with prayer and kind words, any colleague who might've expressed concern for his well-being, or any hard-fought attempts by his siblings — whom he could not bear to disappoint with how much their brother had changed — to contact him. The only one who had been successful in cutting through some of that resistance was Hawke. Now, he could finally allow Elsa to break through the rest.

Morning almost came too soon each day, for he felt he could lay in the quiet with her forever and be at peace. Yet the sting of seeing the night fade away was lessened by the smile that appeared as soon as she locked eyes with him, her body curling into his embrace, her lips caressing his mouth, his jaw, his neck, his chest… What would often follow after, if time allowed it, he would never repeat to a living soul, even if he could find the words to describe it.

One morning, a few short weeks after their return, she convinced him to stay around longer than usual. He went down to the kitchens to fetch them breakfast and they sat together in bed. She was between his legs and leaned against him, trying to eat. He, on the other hand, amused himself by impeding her efforts, dragging his fingers along her curves in the way that she liked, only to dip into territory he knew was ticklish when she wasn't expecting it. Eventually she grew tired of the game, twisted around, and hit him over the head with a baguette. The bread was cast aside soon after as he tossed her on her back and found a new use for the cream and jams he'd brought along, finding their sweet flavour only improved by the undertones of salt as he tasted them off her skin.

Later that day, they left the war room together after their daily meeting. Josephine came along, bringing Elsa up to speed on various smaller matters while they joined him on his way to the training grounds. The keep was bustling around them with guests, as well as workers carrying through supplies. Varric was sitting by the fire and briefly raised his hand at their passing, before returning to the quiet conversation he was having with his friend. Elsa and Josephine were stopped a few times on their way with questions or attempts at small talk, which the two managed effortlessly between themselves.

Cullen watched Elsa's eyes as she strolled beside him, talking with her friend while her hand lay casually within his. Much as he might try, it was difficult to think of her as anything less than perfect. She had not only accepted him, past and all, but decided she wanted to be with him in spite of it. Yet grateful as he was, he knew she wasn't everything he would need in the long term… nor should he expect her to be. She wasn't the single answer to his questions, not the tool to break the chains binding him to the Chantry, or his path to redemption… it was easy to equate her to all those things, to see her as the one providing the solution to his troubles in the same way as she was to the rest of the world. But she wasn't blessed by Andraste — even if he might still find it possible, he would not push that narrative if she did not believe it herself. Instead, she was simply a person. One who had ended up here through a bizarre chain of events, but had somehow risen to every challenge that had been thrown at her. Her trials were far from over… but once they were, she would need to find a life to live as much as he did.

He didn't know what was to come. All he knew was that, while she alone wasn't the answer, he wanted her to be a part of whatever would follow. Perhaps they could find a new path that worked for both of them and that allowed them to make the difference she told him she wanted to enact. Whatever came next, he vowed to himself he would never run from her again and that they would figure it out together.

They exited the main hall to see a carriage drive up through the gates. It turned in a half-circle, the driver lining up the doors with the bottom of the stairs, and pulled to a halt. Josephine's brow furrowed as she followed its path, then checked the papers on her clipboard. From her confused expression, it was clear this was an unscheduled visit.

Elsa looked similarly puzzled as she watched the activity below. A older woman with dark grey hair stepped out and looked around her with an assessing look. She was joined by a man, somewhere around Cullen's age, who exited on the other side and came round the carriage to flank her. Neither seemed particularly impressed by what they were seeing. If they were, they were doing a good job of hiding it.

They were nobility, no doubt about it. They weren't wearing masks, which would have been his only way of identifying them as Orlesian without hearing them speak. Their complexion could make them Fereldan… perhaps Marchers. If he had met them somewhere before, at Haven or the Winter Palace, he didn't recall it. Cullen's attention flicked between Elsa and the carriage, watching for a sign of recognition she was more likely to exhibit than he was. He received one shortly after the woman emerged, for her eyes widened in shock with the sagging of her shoulders.

Despite his leather glove, his hand felt cold as she dropped it to his side.

"Elsa… Are you alright?"

A hint of panic flickered across her irises. "Whatever happens, don't… interfere," she said urgently. "Please. Let me handle this."

"Interfere?" He frowned and looked to the strangers. The woman had spotted them, fixing Elsa with sharp, almond shaped eyes. "Who is that?"

Elsa's spine had stiffened. She pushed back her shoulders and raised her chin. Her slender throat moved visibly as she swallowed, before she conjured a smile to her face.

"My mother."


	49. Guests

"Your mother?"

"Yes," Elsa said through gritted teeth as they walked down the steps, not letting her smile vanish. "I… haven't told her about you yet."

"… Oh."

"I am so sorry, Elsa," Josephine said quietly, her own cheerful expression contrasting sharply with the tone of her voice, "She gave me no indication she was coming in the last communication I had with her about supplies, I assure you."

"That doesn't surprise me, Josie," Elsa replied under her breath. "She does like to make an entrance after all."

They reached the bottom of the steps, where the pair of new arrivals awaited them. Cullen stayed back a little, allowing Elsa and Josephine to greet them first. He didn't want to feel uneasy, but he hadn't expected to suddenly find himself before her family. Furthermore, he wasn't sure how to introduce himself. He hadn't expected Elsa to tell them about him — after all, he hadn't told his siblings yet either, though that hadn't kept Mia from becoming excited anyway after he'd referred to Elsa by name rather than title. But although he didn't mind she'd kept him secret until now, it did make the current situation more uncomfortable than he imagined it would have already been under different circumstances.

Lady Trevelyan was in her early sixties, though there was little to betray that well-kept secret. She wasn't as tall as Elsa, though one needn't look closely to see the family resemblance. Her skin was slightly more olive toned, but they shared the same high cheekbones and sharp jawline. While her eyes were dark brown, their shape was identical to Elsa's misty greys. Even more telling, it was no longer a mystery where Elsa had been taught how to move and behave — her mother adopted the same straight-backed posture, delicate motions with her hands, and air of composure that Cullen had gotten used to in her daughter.

Her mother reached for Elsa as she descended the last steps, smiling warmly. Elsa walked towards her and took her hands, lightly kissing her once on each cheek.

"Elsa, dear," her mother said, spreading Elsa's arms to look her over, "It has been so long. You look well."

"Thank you, Mother, so do you."

"You've cut your hair."

"Yes… I have. It was necessary while I was travelling. How is Father?"

Lady Trevelyan hummed as she contemplated the reasoning behind the new haircut, but then answered, "Busy, as always." She let go of one of Elsa's hands and waved away any inclination to elaborate on her reply with a graceful gesture. "As you have been, it would seem. This is yours, yes?"

"Eh…" Elsa glanced back towards them as her mother continued to assess the keep. "This is the Inquisition's main base of operations. We came here after Haven was destroyed… it was abandoned."

"I see," her mother replied absentmindedly.

"Seems like you lucked out."

Everyone's attention turned to the man standing beside them. He was tall — perhaps a dominant trait from their father's side — and stood at attention like a templar on guard, hand on the pommel of his sword. His face was good-looking, sharing some Elsa's features, but more angular. He was light blond, with a broad jaw and attentive pale blue eyes. Though he had the air of one of the Order, Cullen could tell he wasn't on lyrium. There were two possibilities then — either it was her eldest, Jon, or…

"How are you, Nic?"

Elsa moved over to greet him as well. The man leaned in slightly as she raised herself up to provide him a single kiss on the cheek, but made no attempt to return it. Cullen felt his stomach clench at the cool reception he was giving her. Elsa herself, however, did not seem deterred. Rather, she didn't act like it was anything out of the ordinary. She didn't wait for his reply, or even seemed to have expected one. Instead she turned her attention back to her mother and gestured towards Josephine, who stepped forward with a bright smile to be introduced.

"Mother, I'd like you to meet Josephine, eldest daughter and heiress of the noble Montilyet family of Antiva. She is the Inquisition's chief diplomat and ambassador."

"Of course," her mother said with a smile, returning Josephine's courtesy. "You are the delightful girl I have been communicating with while my daughter was too busy to do so."

Elsa's eyes flicked to the sky for the briefest of moments with her exhale, while Josephine launched into an explanation of the Inquisitor's many responsibilities.

"Most recently she journeyed to many places in Orlais, My Lady," the Ambassador said cheerfully, "aiding the poor souls who had their lives uprooted by the civil war. Not to mention the great victory she has won in the Battle of Adamant only a few weeks ago."

Nicolai expelled a breath through his nose and looked away. While Lady Trevelyan listened attentively, Cullen couldn't help but think her eyes didn't reflect the pleasantness present in the rest of her expression. A strange sense of déjà vu crept over him, making the hair in his neck stand on end.

"I could not have won that battle without our troops," Elsa interjected gently, "Mother… this is Cullen Rutherford, former knight-commander of Kirkwall and commander of the Inquisition's forces."

Cullen stepped forward, a little startled, and took Lady Trevelyan's outstretched hand, lifting it briefly as he gave a short bow. He hoped the courtesies they'd impressed upon him for the ball were appropriate in this situation. They seemed to be, for the lady still looked pleased as he straightened himself back up.

"Handsome face," she mused, "Your reputation precedes you, Commander. Such an enigma you've posed to all of us in the Marches."

"Enigma, My Lady?"

"Why, yes. The one to recognise Stannard's deterioration and act against her… it must have been challenging, restoring order after that tragedy." Her sharp eyes flicked down and back up in rapid succession. Cullen did his best to keep his expression straight, though it was hard while her words echoed in his mind… words he'd heard before. Elsa shifted slightly beside him, undoubtedly recognising the line she'd used on him in one of their first meetings as well. "Then after all that," her mother continued lightly, "you leave the Order to join this… organisation. Considering how things worked out, one might call you a visionary."

"I… believe that description would be too generous," he said with a slight nod. "I am simply doing my job. In my assessment, joining the Inquisition allowed me to do more good than remaining with the Order."

"Hm," Lady Trevelyan murmured, "Interesting."

"Is there a particular reason for your visit, Mother?" Elsa asked her. "You didn't give us notice you were coming. It's lucky we were here to receive you."

"Do I need a reason to see my own daughter?" her mother replied, a slight edge to her voice. She then turned back to him and smiled. "Children, Commander… you give them everything and then they push you away. Do you have a family?"

"I… do not, My Lady," he replied uncertainly, glancing over at Elsa. She didn't look back. Instead her eyes were fixed on her mother as her chest rose in a contained sigh.

"Of course we are more than ready to accommodate you during your stay," Josephine intervened, "If you follow me, My Lady, I will show you to our guest wing so you may recuperate after the long trip. Tonight, I am sure we can organise a reception to welcome you more properly."

"Thank you, dear, that would be most appreciated. Come along, Nicolai." Elsa's mother bade him goodbye with a slight courtesy. "Elsa, dear, I will lie down for a while. I hope you will show me around afterwards."

"Of course, Mother. Sleep well."

The pair followed Josephine up the stairs, while a small army of servants rushed to the carriage at the ambassador's gesture to start unloading their luggage. Elsa watched them go, her hands tensely folded before her. Cullen reached over to hold them as her mother disappeared into the keep, but it only made her jump.

"Better not," she said, glancing back to the upper level. "Sorry."

"That's… okay. Do you… I don't know, what do you want me to do?"

"She… seems to like you well enough," she said sceptically, "but… I'll show her around when she's up and I'm sure Josephine will manage something appropriate for this evening. I just… I don't know why she came. I'd rather find out before I tell her anything."

"Sure. I mean…" He scratched his neck. "You don't _have_ to tell her anything. I don't want to be presumptuous that we… You know what I mean. If it might upset her —"

"No," she said quickly. "Maker above, you're not being presumptuous. I will tell her, I will. I just… need to find the right time. Alright?"

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Sure, yeah. Alright."

"Thank you." She cast another look at the keep's entrance, then quickly stepped forward to press a kiss on his cheek. "I'll see you later."

"Take care, love."

"Don't worry. Just go about your business," she said and, with a smirk, "You and your handsome face."

o - o - o

Despite her assurance, it was hard not to remain affected by the surprise arrival. Though training was still the most successful in diverting his mind from less pleasant matters, even there he found himself growing distracted. Elsa's stiff manner and controlled voice lingered in his thoughts. Her mother had not appeared too unpleasant at least, though he couldn't shake the suspicious feeling that Elsa had instilled herself back when she first joined the Inquisition. Then again… that had turned out rather well, in the end.

Perhaps it was his lingering resentment of nobility in general that was clouding his judgement, or his resistance knowing the childhood they'd put her through. As much as she had retained the necessity of keeping her hidden, the use of their templar skills on her… he couldn't help but feel there was something fundamentally wrong about it all. On the other hand, they had succeeded where others had failed. Furthermore, she had emerged as the young woman he'd grown to love. Overall… she seemed perfectly fine. No, maybe it really was just his own reservations that made him hesitant.

However much he tried to open his mind to accepting her mother, however, her brother was proving more of a challenge. He showed up in the training grounds some time after Josephine had shown them to their rooms. He made no attempt to engage anyone in conversation or even join in. All he did was stroll around, hand on his sword, and survey the troops going through practice drills… like assessing wares at a market. Cullen shook his head, unwilling to let himself draw further parallels between her family and how she had been herself. It didn't matter.

He refocused his attention on the recruits before him. They'd received enough new ones from Orlais since their victory at Adamant, some of whom had a military background. Fortunately he didn't need to start over with them completely, though many lacked formal training. Cullen went down the line, pulling pairs aside to correct their stances and grip. He broke up a particularly troublesome pairing, delegated one of them to his lieutenant and paired up with the other himself. The woman looked a little startled to be singled out, shifting in place as her eyes flitted on and off his face. Cullen told her to relax, demonstrated the correct stance, and began to take her through a series of charges and parries. Soon she found her focus and he felt his own mind calm to the rhythm along with her, making it easier to ignore Nicolai Trevelyan surveying his performance from the sidelines.

o - o - o

When he returned to their chambers at the end of the afternoon, Elsa was already there. She was walking around in her chemise and had emptied out the recently reorganised wardrobes' to sift through their contents. A number of dresses lay towards the foot of the bed — the shortlist of potential options, he imagined — while she pulled new ones from the larger stack beside them and held them up for evaluation. Most got quickly tossed to the side, while some others were added to the growing collection on the end as they met whatever criteria she had set for them.

"Did you require more space?" he asked her, eyeing the various other piles around the room.

"Light, more like it," she muttered, assessing a deep green gown with gold threading. He couldn't recall ever seeing her in it, though it would undoubtedly suit her. With her achromatic appearance, there were few colours she couldn't wear. This one, however, also got rejected and cast aside along with the others. "I couldn't see them properly in there."

He walked up behind her and put his hands on her waist. "Do we need to plan in another evening of moving furniture around?" he murmured, nuzzling the spot behind her ear. "You could have the main room instead."

"No…" She relaxed her head onto his shoulder, "I like the division, but maybe we put some torches in there. Especially now that the days are growing shorter. I didn't want to risk setting my clothes on fire by making a light myself."

"Consider it done." He let his hands slide down over her hips, pulling them against his. "How was your afternoon?"

"It was…" She expelled a heavy sigh and let her hand glide unto his cheek, drawing him closer as he began to kiss her neck. "She's a handful, but… it could have been worse. I showed her the keep, engaged in small talk mostly. Hearing about how things are back home… it was sort of nice."

"Doesn't sound too bad," Cullen said softly, lifting the edge of her skirt. He slipped a hand underneath, stroking upwards over the soft skin of her thigh. "How long do we have until dinner?"

"Not long, I'm afraid," she sighed, turning towards him. "We need to get dressed."

He glanced to where she was looking. On his clothing rack she'd already laid out the finery he'd worn in Orlais, ready for use.

"Oh no," he groaned, looking back to her. "Do I have to?"

"Josephine has everyone on their best behaviour," Elsa sighed. "Please, it won't be every evening. Just… my family has been one of our biggest donors."

"I didn't know that."

"I'm not surprised," she smirked, "Where did you think we get the funds to build outposts and pay our soldiers?"

He thought a moment. "Orlais, mainly."

"True enough," she admitted. "Actually, their contribution has not been in direct funding so much, as it has been diverting a lot of last year's harvest to us since we got started here."

"Alright," Cullen sighed. "I'm sorry… I'll wear it."

Elsa briefly wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Freshen up first," she suggested, patting his damp shirt. With another glance at his uniform — dark grey with a blue sash — she then seemed to make up her mind, pulled a dress from the pile, and hung it on the door of his cupboard. It was the same one he'd suggested for her once, dark red with gold threading… as far from his colour scheme as possible.

She noticed him watching the garment as she sat down at the vanity and began to comb her hair. "Everything alright?" she asked, watching through the mirror.

"You haven't told her yet, have you?"

"… No," she replied, pausing the brush mid-stroke. "It… the moment didn't quite present itself."

"Oh. So, what am I tonight?"

"What do you mean?" she said jokingly, "The commander of our forces, last I checked. You're rather important."

"Elsa…"

She looked at him, biting her lip, and put down the brush. "I know, I'm sorry… It's just that… even if she likes you, this is going to be a bit of a thing. Getting married was her main goal for me back home. Surely she must realise things have changed, but to tell her I have found someone myself, not in line with her plan…" Elsa sighed and diverted her attention to making a quick braid in her hair on one side, then pinning it to the back. "It will require more of a conversation. I didn't want to do that immediately after her arrival."

"I can understand that," he said uncertainly, removing his shirt as he walked over to the bathroom. "But — can you give me some water?" Elsa filled the basin with a gesture and he picked up a washcloth. "Thanks. But it's not easy to be with the people we know for a whole night and pretend we're not together. What if your mother hears it spoken around the keep first, rather than from you?"

"Josephine should be informing the rest," Elsa told him, finishing her hairstyle with a symmetrical braid on her other side. "I won't wait long, I promise… I know it's not something that can stay hidden. But it's just one evening. Please… try."

He washed himself, contemplating the implications. "You want me to lie if it comes up?"

"It won't come up," she assured him. "At worst she will suspect something and ask me tomorrow when we're alone, and then I'll tell her."

Cullen dried himself off with a towel and briefly checked his hair in the vanity on his way back. Elsa was watching him as he did, clearly uncomfortable as well by the situation she was putting them in. He pushed his curls back in order, then placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed a kiss on her crown. "We're still stronger together, right?"

"Of course," she said quickly, grasping on to his fingers. "Nothing is changing. Just… let me handle them, alright? I… I don't have the easiest relationship with her, but she is my mum… I just want her to get to know you in the right way."

"Alright, I trust you. Do you need help with your dress?"

"With the corset," she groaned, "I'll get comments if I don't wear one."

"Alright," he chuckled, "Let's strap you in."

He helped her into her outfit, debating her as she directed him in fastening the undergarment. It seemed impossibly tight by the time they'd finished, but… she looked radiant. He still liked this colour on her — she would match him well if he wore his armour… at least that thought gave him some comfort. He pulled on his own suit afterwards. While he was unhappy with the tension by his shoulders, he refrained from complaining. Undoubtedly her clothes were more uncomfortable than his.

"What do you think of them so far?" Elsa asked him, rummaging through her collection of jewellery.

"I… haven't spent enough time with them to form an assessment."

She glanced at him through her lashes. "What a diplomatic answer, Commander. Josephine _has_ made an impact."

"It's not exactly a fair question," he laughed, "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "Just give me your first impressions."

"I… think your mother was alright," he said uncertainly, "Although she, eh…"

"Is somewhat overbearing?"

"That's a way to put it. She doesn't seem to have much of an idea of what you do here. I'm not sure I liked how she put you down… That comment about not having written to her, for example."

"Doesn't your sister complain about that to you?"

"She does, but…" He thought for a moment, considering the difference. "She just complains to me. Your mother brought it up in front of us and your brother."

"Yeah," Elsa sighed, "She does that, but… she's got a point. It wasn't very nice of me to let Josie handle that, for either of them."

"… If you say so."

"How about Nic?" she asked, taking his arm to attach a cufflink to his sleeve. "He was in the training grounds when I was showing Mother around, right?"

"He was, but we didn't talk. He just… observed for a while."

"I see."

"He's the one that wasn't allowed to join the templars, right?"

"Neither was Jon," she murmured, adjusting his sash, "but he has more to do at home, being the heir. Nic just… hangs around. Or gets dragged along when my mother needs an escort, like now."

"He… didn't seem too excited to see you."

"That's just how he is."

"But… isn't he the one you helped? With the extract?"

"Yeah…" Elsa twisted a finger in her hair, pulling a lock free to frame her face in a graceful curl. "It's… complicated, I guess. We're family, but… he's just unhappy. It's hard to have a good relationship with someone who is like that." She fastened the other cufflink and looked him over. "You look very handsome."

Cullen huffed a laugh and glanced at the mirror. He'd received enough outside reinforcement by now to be aware of how others perceived him, though he far less enjoyed seeing himself like this. If not for the scar on his lip, he looked indistinguishable from any noble he'd ever come across. "At least your mother can continue to approve of that."

"It definitely doesn't hurt," Elsa smiled. "Ready?"

He took a deep breath and took a step towards the stairs. Elsa giggled as he bowed before her, one arm behind his back, and took her hand to lightly kiss her fingers. "Lady Inquisitor," he said with a smirk, looking up at her, "will you do me the honour of accompanying me to dinner?"

She curtsied in response and took the arm he held out to her. "I'd be happy to." He led her down the steps and opened the door for her. "Oh, we won't be sitting together though," she said, looking over her shoulder after she'd walked out ahead of him. "The seating arrangement was a bit of a challenge… you'll see when we get there."

Cullen's hand lingered on the handle as a familiar sense of dread manifested itself in his chest. _It's just one evening… It'll be fine._ He suppressed a sigh and pulled the door shut behind him, then turned to follow her down the darkened stairs.


	50. Table Manners

Skyhold held many nooks and crannies he didn't come across on a daily basis. Yet he hadn't been aware there were entire rooms he'd barely even seen. Elsa led him through the castle's numerous hallways, until they eventually arrived some place above the kitchens. A medium sized room — outfitted with plush carpets and chairs, fine drapery, crystal, and gold ornaments — suddenly transported him back to Gaspard's mansion and the room in the Winter Palace. Josephine had not spared any expense in outfitting this space… suddenly he realised she'd been downright sparse for her liking in the rest of the keep.

The Antivan was there when they arrived, wearing a sparkling gold gown with purple accents that complemented her complexion. The ambassador quickly moved over to receive them, giving his outfit an assessing look that turned into appreciation moments later. Then she turned her attention to Elsa, who received far less scrutiny. They conferred briefly in hushed voices, while Cullen observed who else was in the room.

Dorian and Vivienne were both there, carrying drinks and engaging in conversation with small groups of people Cullen didn't recognise. Some of them wore masks, which didn't help to solve this issue. His eyes lingered on a woman with red hair in a green dress who looked strangely familiar. It wasn't until she turned her head and arched a sceptical brow that he recognised the spymaster. She smirked at his confounded expression and raised her glass, before returning her attention to the conversation she'd been partaking in.

"Your family isn't here yet?" Cullen asked Elsa.

"I will be sending someone to escort them here shortly," Josephine answered for her. "Commander, we currently have some guests from Orlais with us. Do you remember their names?"

"I might, if they showed their faces," he muttered. "Were they at the ball?"

"No, but they were at Haven," Josephine sighed with some exasperation. "It's fortunate they are mainly from minor houses… we wouldn't want Lady Trevelyan to be upstaged as the guest of honour."

"She wouldn't consider herself upstaged by the Empress herself," Elsa added and, turning to him, "It's easier to recognise them by their masks, actually. Their heraldry is incorporated into them."

He stared at her. "Yes… much easier."

She smiled and quickly took him through a refresher round of the appropriate titles to use. He tried his best to remember the names, but the only one that really stuck with him was Duke Dufort, who had apparently been with them for a few days already.

"He has been eager to talk with you again," Josephine said in a hushed voice, "I have seated you together at the dinner, please take care of him. His… singular interests don't always mix very well with other guests."

Cullen could do without the man's singular interests himself, but figured there were many worse that he could have been seated with. Since he had to get through a whole dinner, however, he decided to put off his reunion with the duke until it would commence. Instead, while Elsa and Josephine resumed their discussion, he strolled over to the corner where Varric stood together with Cassandra, both seemingly eager to stay away from the activity as much as possible.

"Curly."

"Cassandra, Varric. How are you?"

"I am almost looking forward to another battle," Cassandra lamented, "These functions bore me to tears."

"I'm sure you'll get your fill soon enough again, Seeker."

"Where is your friend, Varric?" Cullen asked him.

"Ah…" The dwarf shifted a little. "She's with Dagna, I think. It's better she's not seen too much while she's here — her husband might get the wrong idea."

"Husband? I didn't realise —"

"Let's not talk of it, Curly," Varric said casually, "Surely we can spend our time better criticising the fine, fancy people around us."

"I thought you wanted us to support Elsa at these kinds of events," Cassandra objected, "or have you changed your mind on that?"

"I haven't," Varric countered, "but the fate of the world is hardly riding on this particular meeting. We are allowed a bit of fun at Orlesian expense."

"Not sure Elsa or Josephine would agree with that assessment," Cullen mused.

Varric looked him over. "You doing alright, Curly? We've been instructed about you guys tonight."

Cullen sighed and glanced over to Elsa. She had begun her round of greeting the other guests and was now talking animatedly with a masked woman… he'd already forgotten the name, but was fairly certain he needed to refer to her as Her Ladyship should he come across her tonight.

"I'm alright," he shrugged, "She'll tell her mother soon… when the timing is better."

"Wouldn't she have heard already though?" Cassandra's sharp eyes glanced around the room. "After the Empress' ball, everyone in Orlais knew about you. I don't think Josephine kept those tongues from wagging."

"Perhaps it didn't reach the Marches?" Cullen suggested. "Her mother didn't seem to know anything this afternoon. She asked me if I have a family."

"Perhaps. Better hope none of our… esteemed guests gives it away then."

"I'm not sure how acceptable it is to still share last season's news, Seeker," Varric smirked, "It would make it seem like nothing interesting has happened since then. Plus, it's probably considered bad form to suggest the mother of the lady in question is not informed of her dalliances."

"Since when do they care about bad form?" Cassandra sneered.

"Dalliance?" Varric looked at him, seemingly surprised at the sharpness in his tone. "I wouldn't call it that."

"Oh… I didn't mean to offend your actual relationship, Curly. I just doubt the Orlesians considered your attachment permanent. Ruffles mentioned you received a bunch of propositions after the ball."

Their conversation was interrupted with the opening of the door. A servant stepped inside and stiffly announced Lady Trevelyan and her son to the room. The pair followed right after, barely giving the man time to step aside, and was received by the two hostesses. They were quickly offered refreshments and then led on a tour of the room to be introduced to the others. Cullen felt his nerves grow as they slowly approached their group… even if he'd met them already, he wasn't particularly eager to do so again.

"Mother, this is Lady Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of Divine Justinia and one of the Inquisition's founders. Cassandra, Lady Esme Trevelyan of Ostwick."

"My dear, where are you with your head? Of course I know Lady Pentaghast," her mother chided her. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

Cullen saw Cassandra wracking her brain over where she should have met Lady Trevelyan, but she rallied herself soon enough. "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Trevelyan. You have done much for the Faith in the Marches."

"You are very kind to have noticed," Elsa's mother said graciously, "but I must thank you. It has been most comforting knowing my daughter has been under your guidance since she has left her family behind."

Elsa looked between them, frowning faintly, but Cassandra handled herself well enough. "One could say we have been in her care, My Lady," the Seeker stated, "The Herald has led us to numerous victories in our mission against Corypheus. I have no doubt Andraste herself has been guiding her on this new path."

"Indeed," Lady Trevelyan mused.

"And this is Varric Tethras," Elsa continued. Cullen tried to catch her eye, wanting to see whether she was okay with this open declaration of her divine status, but she was too preoccupied to notice. "You have heard of him of course. Renowned author from Kirkwall."

"What a delight," her mother chirped, allowing Varric to take her hand and press a light kiss on her fingers. "Your stories provide the most wonderful diversions to our mundane existence, Master Tethras."

"I see where your daughter gets her fine taste in literature, as well as her beauty, My Lady," Varric said smoothly, flashing a grin. Lady Trevelyan seemed all the more delighted by this and giggled like a schoolgirl. Cullen rolled his eyes at the dwarf once she was distracted by Elsa for a moment, who merely shrugged in return.

"Ah, Commander," the lady then said, "Wonderful to see you again — what an eclectic company here tonight. I wasn't sure you'd join in this type of gathering."

"Why would —"

"I believe it's almost time to go in for dinner," Elsa cut in. "Mother, shall I take your glass?"

"Don't be rude, darling. As I was about to say, Commander, Nicolai was most impressed with your troops this afternoon. Weren't you, dear?"

One could almost overlook the tall man standing solemnly behind her, so little did he try to engage with the company. He made no attempt at an answer, merely giving a curt nod in response. From the way his pale eyes briefly glanced over at Cullen, however, the latter sincerely doubted he'd sung his praises in private as the lady seemed to suggest.

On the other side of the room, Josephine clinked a small fork against her glass. She was standing next to a door that had previously been closed, but that now gave view of another well-decorated room with a long dining table. "If everyone would follow me through," she said brightly, "dinner will be served in a few minutes."

Elsa's mother took her son's arm and allowed herself to be guided away from them. Elsa briefly looked back at Cullen, her eyes wrought with guilt. She gave an apologetic shrug with her shoulder, then straightened herself up and followed them in.

o - o - o

Cullen found himself seated midway down the table. Elsa herself was at the head, Lady Trevelyan to her right and Nicolai beside her in turn. Josephine was on Elsa's left, flanked by an Orlesian lord of some kind. There didn't appear to be much reason to the rest of the arrangement that Cullen could distinguish, though they seemed to have made an effort in spreading out the different genders evenly along the table. He himself was in between Cassandra on his left and Vivienne on his right, with Duke Dufort straight across from him. The only other logic that he could distinguish was that none of the other mages had been seated close to the end that the Trevelyans occupied… perhaps by coincidence, but he doubted it.

Dinner progressed rather uneventfully. The food was more elaborate than it ever was in the mess hall. This irked him somewhat, as did the clear Orlesian influences on the dishes that he'd resented at the Empress' ball. Cullen found himself wondering whether Hawke's reputation would have included her in the party had she still been with them. He couldn't help but smile to himself as he imagined her scathing criticism of the food and formalities — undoubtedly she'd have torn it apart, this… eclectic company. He mulled over that description for a while as the first course was placed before him, as well as Elsa's response after. Something had been off about that exchange… or was he imagining it?

He found enough conversation in the duke for the duration of the meal, who was positively ecstatic to have someone to share his passion with again. Whenever it became too hard to feign interest for a while, Cullen could turn to the women beside him or the far end of the table instead, where Varric and Dorian were quite happily entertaining the lesser lords and ladies that were visiting Skyhold at the moment. All in all, it wasn't as bad as he might've thought, and much better than the last time they hosted a party on their home turf. Or it would have been… if not for one glaring similarity between the dinner at Haven and the one tonight.

He'd thought it would be the end of it once she kissed him in the Winter Palace, that division between them whenever she was required to interact with the nobility. Then again, she'd been doing enough of that while they were both in Skyhold… he just hadn't involved himself in it. Yet even if he had, he highly doubted it would have been like this…

She was too far away for him to talk to her, so the best he could do was watch her from a distance. Her mother would laugh loudly at times, diverted by her own comments or those of someone seated with them. Elsa herself, however, would only smile, casting her eyes to the table or letting them rest on whoever was speaking at the time. Cullen thought he'd heard more snippets of criticism being levelled her way — small bits veiled as neutral observations, yet no less biting for the receiver. Josephine would often intercept such moments — in which Elsa's chest rose lightly and she averted her gaze — and either change the subject or pivot back into all the good work the Inquisitor was doing. At some point he noticed Elsa pick up her half-filled glass and quickly down the remainder of the contents, after which she signalled for it to be refilled immediately. Her breath seemed to become constricted around this time — whether from distress or her corset, he couldn't be sure. It calmed before he could analyse it further and a new serenity appeared on her face to replace it.

She wasn't the only one who took to drinking that night. While most at the table seemed content to let the alcohol flow generously, in none its effects were as apparent as they were in her brother. Nicolai Trevelyan slouched further in his chair with every course that was served. By the time dinner had come to conclusion and they all returned to the salon for drinks, he was swaying and stumbled over to one of the sofas. Josephine, aware of the potential danger, took it upon herself to chaperone the man, attempting to engage him in conversation as she sat beside him on the settee, while Elsa and her mother filled out the circle by taking the chairs opposite them.

Cullen stood with Varric, though he didn't hear the story the dwarf was telling the others in their group. The more he watched the guests of honour, the more uneasy he became. Elsa sat stiffly in her seat, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes faraway. Her mother, however, seemed oblivious to her son's aggressive gestures, his short temper with the serving staff, or the glares he was giving his sister. Josephine's company seemed to placate him somewhat, yet Elsa's expression continued to grow more pained as those of her brother turned a shade darker with every glass. Eventually she held up a hand when one of the servers offered them a refill. It seemed like the only responsible thing to do… yet it instantly proved to be a mistake.

Heads began to turn towards the group when her brother lurched up in his seat and held out his glass. "Fill it," he ordered loudly, not looking at the elven serving girl, but rather at his sister sitting frozen before him.

"Nic," Elsa said, placing a gentle hand on his arm, "Maybe it's better —"

"Who do you think you are?" he growled, pulling himself free, "You think you can order _me_ around, now that people think you're something special?!"

"I don't, Nic," she pleaded quietly, fixing him with fearful eyes, "Just calm down. You don't want to do this."

"Don't tell me what I want!" Nicolai shouted, flakes of saliva landing on her dress as he launched himself to his feet. "You should still be locked up, you —"

"That's enough."

With three long strides, Cullen had positioned himself between her chair and the drunken man staring at her like a crazed beast. To the Void with protocol, secrecy, or her mother's sensibilities… even if he hadn't been together with her, he'd be damned if he was going to let anyone talk to the Inquisitor in this way.

"I suggest you get a hold of yourself, _My Lord_," he said sternly, placing a warning hand on the man's shoulder to keep him from advancing on her further.

"Get your paws off me," Nicolai spat, smacking his hand away, "Fereldan commoner dog."

Years of back-handed insults from recruits of noble birth had hardened him enough for the insult to glance right off him. The man might not have been allowed to join, but Cullen knew exactly the type of templar Nicolai Trevelyan would have become. He retained his position and fixed him with narrow eyes, daring to give him enough of a reason to retaliate. If he'd been one of his soldiers, he'd drag him into the training ring and knock him around until he'd feel the effects for weeks.

"You're protecting her," the other man snarled darkly, "Did she charm you, you simpleton? Careful she doesn't burn you alive… she's known to do that."

Elsa sat still as a statue beside him, her breath slowly climbing into her chest. Cullen could almost feel the air tremble around her… whatever strength she had seemed to be dedicated solely to maintaining her composure. He felt his own rise in response, fuelled by an intense anger at how anyone could treat her in this way.

"Nicolai." Before Cullen could act, her mother had risen on his other side. Lady Trevelyan did not provide any judgement of her son's behaviour. Instead, she merely gave him a cool, measured look. "Time for us to retire, I think. Escort me to my room."

Her son turned his unfocused gaze on her. With another dark glance at Cullen, he then spat on the floor and followed his mother's gesture out of the room. Elsa got up as they both left, looking after them uncertainly. A hush had fallen over the other attendants, who cast furtive glances at each other. With the primary guests abruptly having left the party, it seemed unclear how the rest of the night should proceed. Josephine got up soon after, conjuring her best smile as she clapped her hands together and suggested they have some music. She took to the piano in the corner and began to play a complicated melody, at which Dorian and Vivienne took it upon themselves to smooth over conversation with the rest of the guests.

Elsa remained beside him, her gaze still fixed on the door.

"Are you alright?"

Her eyes snapped to his. "Yes… I'm sorry," she whispered, "I… should go check that they settle in alright. I'll meet you upstairs, okay?"

She was gone before he could reply. Conversation resumed like normal around him as he stared after her, his nails digging into his palms.

o - o - o

Cullen stomped back to their chambers and changed out of his finery, resisting the urge to throw it into a corner rather than place it back in the cupboard. Afterwards he sat on the bed, twiddling his thumbs, until finally the door clicked open below.

Elsa came up the stairs and breathed a heavy sigh when she reached the landing. She gave him a sideways look as she bent down to pull off her shoes, a pained frown wrinkling her forehead.

"I am so sorry."

"Please," he said dismissively, walking towards her, "you have nothing to apologise for."

"What he said to you…" She shook her head. "That was completely uncalled for, I —"

"I am not bothered by what he said to me," Cullen interjected, taking hold of her arms, "I have never been treated any differently by nobility, except… well, like some piece of meat by Orlesians. But the way he talked to you… that is _not_ alright, Elsa."

Elsa didn't reply. Instead she swayed a little in his hands, prodding at the ground with her toe.

"Was he ever violent with you?"

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "He has never struck me. He goes into a fit, throws some things around… it's just his frustration finding an outlet."

"Elsa." Cullen cupped her chin with the edge of his finger and turned her to face him. "It's not just wrong when you get hurt. No one should treat you like that, not for any reason. I shouldn't have to tell you that."

"What do you expect me to do about it?" She pulled away and walked past him into the room, turning around when she reached the bed. "I don't live there anymore and they won't stay forever. Everything will be fine when things go back to normal."

"Will it?" he asked as he followed her. "This doesn't bother you? How often did situations like this occur when you were there?"

"Not often," she muttered, averting her eyes. "I… avoided them. Mostly."

"Elsa…"

"What, Cullen? What am I supposed to do?"

She stared at him, exasperated. Dark circles lined her eyes. They'd woken up early, not with the expectation they'd had to sit through a long dinner and soirée this evening. He didn't want to let the topic go, but neither did he want to force her when she was clearly exhausted and in distress.

"Can we… go have a bath?" she asked before he could say anything else, hugging herself. "I would really like to end this day on a pleasant note rather than a fight."

"I didn't mean to —" He paused and drew a deep breath. "Of course we can."

"Thank you."

The Veil rippled as she prepared the water, while he undid her braids and loosened the laces on the back of her dress. Elsa shivered in the cold once he removed her layers and stepped in ahead of him to keep warm. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the edge of the tub, sighing deeply as she let her body relax in the water. Cullen stripped down himself and got in on the other side, which was her cue to move over and lay herself against his chest instead.

He held her, like he had on many nights before. Here, naked in his arms, she wasn't the Inquisitor or the Herald — not the symbol people continued to look to, the strategist handling requests in the war room, the healer helping out in the clinic, or the archer leading hunting parties to gather supplies. She was just a girl… a sweet, beautiful woman who giggled at his silly jokes and snuggled into him for warmth. How someone could ever treat her with anything but the utmost care and respect… it was beyond him. Her family had done little to turn around his preconceptions about the nobility. Rather, tonight had undoubtedly worsened them.

"Why does your mother allow it?" he asked, stroking her hair.

Elsa shifted a little closer against him, her breath making faint ripples on the water. "She doesn't really acknowledge anything that doesn't… fit," she murmured softly. "She'll make an excuse or just pretend it didn't happen. He doesn't usually embarrass himself like this in public, so it doesn't harm our standing. As long as that's the case…"

Her voice trailed off. She buried her face in his neck, tightening her arms around him as she breathed in deeply. Everything about her seemed eager to do as her mother apparently did and simply put the unpleasant evening behind her. Cullen wished he could do the same… but knew he could not.

"I'm sorry," he said, pushing her away a little to look at her. "I don't want to make this worse, I don't. But… this is not alright, Elsa. It shouldn't be something you brush off like this."

"Brushing it off is all I can do, Cullen," Elsa sighed. "Nothing is changing back home. My other brothers are even keeping the Circle standing. He's just… sad. His situation is no different than mine was when I still lived there."

"I doubt you ever treated anyone like that," he scoffed.

"Of course I didn't!" She suddenly spoke quickly, her breath turning rapid. "But… what should _I_ do about it? There is no crime to charge him with, even if I wanted to. I've seen people do far worse since I left home!"

"Okay… okay," he shushed her, gently taking her by her shoulders, "Calm down."

She drew several long, shaky breaths, regaining her control. Her energy, what little there had been left, seemed to sap from her rapidly and she raised a hand to her head, dampening her hair as she pressed her fingers into her temple.

"The best thing I could do," she said steadily, "was to get out of there. And I have, haven't I? Even if it wasn't my goal at the time, the result is the same."

"But… doesn't it affect you?"

"We all have things we carry with us," she retorted, giving him a meaningful look. "I… hadn't expected this to follow me here, but they will go home eventually. This is not the new normal." She ran her hands up to his chest. "This," she said, pressing lightly, "_this_ is the new normal. Right here… no one else."

Cullen took hold of her hands and lifted one of them to his mouth to kiss the backs of her fingers. She watched him, a sad smile faintly forming on her lips, as he softly grazed her skin with his.

"It's not right," he whispered, "It just isn't. At the very least, your parents shouldn't allow this."

"I know…" The water swished as she tossed her arms around his neck. "I know, but… just forget about him. It's not important."

"Elsa, I can't forget about it. Especially not if you won't let me stand up for you should this happen again." He swallowed away the lump in his throat. "Forgive me… I know you asked me not to interfere, but… I just couldn't."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I'm glad you stepped in… I am." Elsa bit her lip, frowning as she stared at a point somewhere below his chin. She then raised herself up, locking eyes with him. "Tomorrow I will tell Mother about us. No more hiding."

"… Thank you."

She took his face in her hands and pulled him in. There was a mild desperation in her touch, a longing with which her tongue searched for his and her fingers clawed into his hair. He let one of his hands tangle in her silver locks, while his other took hold in the small of her back. She moaned softly and pulled herself into his lap, squeezing her legs in between his and the surface of the bath. His gut stirred under the feeling of her, but he caught himself before he got too swept up in it. Pushing her back by her thighs, he gave himself some room and looked at her. Her mouth remained slightly open after the abrupt end to the kiss, while her hair, wet on the ends, hung heavily around her perfect face.

"What?" she asked breathlessly.

"I… I'm sorry. I'm not really in the mood."

"Oh…" Elsa tilted her head a little. He didn't quite believe it himself either, considering the past few weeks, but after tonight… it didn't feel right. "Alright," she said, letting her fingers stroke down his stomach. It tingled, making his muscles twitch. "… Are you sure?"

"Yes," he laughed, removing her hands and placing them back around his neck. "I'm sure."

She gave him a sceptical look, but didn't object any further. They spent a while longer in the bath, trying to soak the effects of the evening away, until he pushed himself up and lifted her out, dripping water onto the floor. He put her down so he could dry them off, then picked her up once more to carry her over to the bed. She stretched against the mattress when he put her down, drawing attention to her curves, but he simply smiled and covered her with the blanket. Finally he crawled in on the other side and lay himself against her.

"You're really not in the mood, huh?" she asked, disbelieving.

"I am surprised you are. You… were different today."

"You expect me to behave this way with my mother?" she smirked.

"No," he sighed, "not exactly, but… like yourself, at least."

Her expression darkened before him, her misty eyes clouding over like a stormy sky. "I… wasn't?"

"Not really," he murmured, "More like… how you were when we first met. Or at the Winter Palace perhaps. You… seem to retreat around them."

"I see…" She took hold of the edge of the pillow, twisting the seam between her fingers as she chewed the inside of her lip.

"You seem surprised," Cullen said quietly, reaching over to take her hand in his.

"I… hadn't really realised, I guess. I'm not sure I know how to be different around them."

"You need to stand up for yourself, Elsa… you wouldn't allow anyone else to be treated this way."

"It's easier to stand up for others," she said gloomily. "I don't know what to do when he's like that. Using magic would just make it worse."

"I can understand that, but…" His hand tensed around hers. "It's not just with your brother. It's your mother as well. You are so much stronger than they allow you to be, or… Maker, even implying you would need to be _allowed_ to be yourself makes me angry."

"Cullen…" She placed her hand on his cheek and edged in closer, pressing her forehead against his. "Don't be angry, please…"

"I can try, but it just…" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the smell of the bath salts lingering on her skin. "It hurts… seeing you like this."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. "I don't mean to distress you, but… it's my mum." She shook her head slightly, a pleading look in her eyes. "You know what I mean? I don't want you to hate her."

"I… will do my best."

"Thank you, my love," she murmured, pressing quick kisses on his lips as she pushed herself into his embrace. "Thank you… thank you. I love you."

"… I love you more."


	51. Apron Strings

"Concentrate, Elsa."

"I am tired, Mother."

"Are you going to tell the templars that when they take you away?"

"Hershel wouldn't —"

"Hershel would if he had to, and Hershel does not make these decisions," her mother said sternly. "Do as I tell you. Or do you want more accidents to happen?"

"… No."

Autumn light came filtering in through the small, rounded window, illuminating the specks of dust in the air. Elsa sat on her knees, the dirty floor staining her dress. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _Clear your mind. Control your emotions._

She'd been looking forward to seeing the Satinalia parade for weeks and, finally, Mother had consented to let her go. But then, just as the day was approaching… the voices had returned. Those darn voices, slithering in her mind and probing her thoughts. They'd grown loud during her dreams and continued to haunt her come morning. She'd tried to hide it, but Mother had seen through it nonetheless. She was swept up to the attic in an instant, where she could hear the distant sounds of the festivities through the tiny window…

"Can I still go out after our exercises?" she asked hopefully, opening one eye.

"So you can burn down the parade?" her mother said coolly. "Clearly you are not ready, child, if you can't even focus your mind on this. I'll have you know I am missing an important function at the Chantry to be here with you. Now, be grateful and get to work."

Her words stung like daggers and spread like venom. Elsa shrank a little in place and closed her eyes again, focusing her mind on pushing the voices away. _She knows best,_ she told herself. _Be grateful. You have to be better._

_I really wanted to go._

_Don't think of that. Control yourself._

"Inquisitor?"

"Ah!" She startled and scrambled away from the sudden presence. A man was standing in the forlorn attic with her, looking around him with a confused frown on his face. He was bald and had pointed ears… an elf? He wasn't dressed like any of their servants… in fact, he looked more like a vagrant. How did he get in here?

"Where are we?" the elf asked.

"Who are you?" Elsa glanced at her mother, but she didn't react to the stranger's presence. In fact… she didn't seem to react to much of anything at all.

"Who am I?" The man stared at her and blinked. "Do you not remember, Inquisitor?"

_Inquisitor…_

"Solas?"

He nodded.

"I'm dreaming again."

"Indeed. Though we've never been to this setting."

Elsa looked around her, then at herself. Her body had been young before, with little shape to her chest and the thin arms of her thirteen year old self. Now it was her own again and she pushed herself up, seeing the attic from a higher vantage point than she ever had in reality.

"Where are we?" Solas asked again.

"Home," Elsa sighed, her eyes lingering on the frozen image of her mother. While she'd had her eyes closed, her mother's had apparently been on her instead. Her gaze was fixed on the place she'd been sitting — sharp and… fearful? Angry? Elsa couldn't tell. "I used to stay here when my magic became difficult to handle."

"I see… You are preoccupied with your family visiting."

"I suppose I am." Elsa walked over to the window. She'd seen the view from there often enough. Yet when she looked out, it wasn't the walled city of Ostwick she saw. Instead, it was all colours and masks, musicians and street performers… happy people celebrating all around. "This isn't right."

"You wanted to see a parade on this day?" Solas asked, coming to stand next to her. "Seems like the spirits picked up on that desire. Perhaps they amplified it based on how you imagined it would be."

"That… makes sense, I guess."

"Did you ever go?"

"Years later, when I was an adult already. I came here less and less," she explained, gesturing to the attic, "as I learned to control my emotions."

Solas hummed in acknowledgement and cast another glance at the cobweb filled loft. "Well… shall we get going? I doubt you'll find the Champion in here."

"I'm… not sure I should."

"Inquisitor," Solas said, a little impatiently, "Just close this memory, focus your mind on the task at hand. There is nothing here that will help you become a better Dreamer."

"No," she agreed, "but… I'm sorry, Solas, let's try another night. I think I need to deal with this first."

The elf gave her a sceptical look and shrugged. "Very well. I will see you tomorrow."

He vanished and soon the attic did as well. Instead, she found herself in her old room. It was nighttime… the moon fell gently through the large windows, casting a silver glow across the polished floor. Everything was how she'd left it — a large four-poster bed on a soft carpet, a mahogany wardrobe, a trunk with old toys, a vanity topped with bottles and brushes, and a small desk for writing letters. She walked over to the far wall, which was entirely covered by a large bookcase that was filled to the brim… one shelf dedicated to Varric's works alone. Elsa let her hand glide across their battered spines, smiling warmly at the memory of reading them for the first time.

A soft melody sounded from behind her, emanating from the music box that had been by her bed for as long as she remembered. It was small, with a simple wind-up mechanism and a figurine of a rearing horse that unfolded when it was opened. Now it spun cheerfully in its middle, twirling along with the notes until the timer ran out.

"Can I go to the festival next year, Mother?"

Elsa turned towards the voice. A girl was sitting in the bed, propped up against the many pillows with the blanket drawn up to her chin. She sat nestled under the arm of a woman with ashen hair several tones darker than that of the girl, who looked up from the book she'd been reading to her.

"We'll see, dear."

"But…" Elsa felt how the girl's nerves twisted in her stomach at the thought of asking for something she wanted. "I really have been better. I think… I think I can do it properly next year."

Her mother put down the book and pulled her a little closer. "Perhaps. You'll have to work even harder."

"I can work harder," she said quickly, "I can do it. I can be perfect."

Esme Trevelyan stroked her daughter's hair, starting at her crown and letting her fingers run through the pearly strands until they reached the very ends. The girl sighed deeply and snuggled closer against her.

"I am sure you will be, my dear," her mother said softly, "…You know why you need to be, don't you?"

"Yes, Mother," she said obediently, "… to keep me safe."

"Exactly." She rested her cheek against her daughter's head. "… Exactly."

Her voice was sad as she began to sing to the song of the music box. Elsa watched her younger self slowly drift off in her mother's arms, and silently mouthed the words along with them. She woke up in the middle of the night with a knot in her stomach, the melody of her mother's lullaby lingering in the back of her mind until morning.

o - o - o

Cullen left early, continuing his newly established fondness for chastity. Elsa lay in bed a while longer, frustrated, and gathered her courage for what was to come. It had been painful to hear his words the night before, no matter how good his intentions were. She didn't want to regress, to be the person she'd been when she first joined the Inquisition. Somehow, being around her mother made her fall right back into that old dynamic. She had barely even noticed it, yet he had observed it in an instant. This role reversal… it bothered her.

Why had they come? It wasn't Nic's decision, she could be certain of that. Her mother must have had some motive to make the trip, elusive as she remained in providing an explanation. The most concrete one she'd given was that family should be together after a tragic loss — a direct response to hearing of Myca's fate. Except… it had been over two months since then. In fact, relaying the painful news had been the last letter Elsa had written to them herself. Why had it taken so long for her to come, if that was the reason? No… there was no doubt in her mind that there was something else going on.

Despite that, it hadn't been… the worst. Her mother was dominant, yes, overtaking any conversation she was in and leaving little space for anyone else. But she did care, in her way, and it had been… nice, hearing about how things were back home. While it was strange to imagine everything going on down here had barely even been noticed in the north, hearing about mundane things — how last season's harvest turned out, gossip about the other families, and Jon courting a girl from Starkhaven — had been familiar… and oddly comforting.

Unfortunately the previous night had been less pleasant. She hadn't thought it would end the way it did and yet… it hadn't been completely unexpected either. Nic was always a wildcard at social events, but he wasn't in the habit of exposing himself in the way he had here. Since arriving yesterday he'd been even more withdrawn than she remembered him to be at home. She'd avoided contact with him there, except for the times she couldn't — social gatherings, mealtimes, and after dinner time in the salon, where he'd rarely abstained from drinking. Last night he'd largely ignored her, not engaging in conversation except when directly appealed to by Josephine. Over the course of the meal she saw his eyes darken and his hand tense around his glass, worsening whenever the conversation steered towards the work the Inquisition was doing, and her contributions in particular.

Maker bless Cullen for stepping in when he had… She'd been frozen, fighting the memories echoing through her mind. Nic hadn't ever laid a hand on her, though she hadn't wanted to tell Cullen of the times he might've come close. He was predisposed enough to dislike them as it was… not that it should be an excuse either way. Who had she become, that she was okay with it? Cullen was right, she knew that, but… it was simply easier to ignore it and move on, rather than try to change it. She had tried… she'd tried talking to him when he was sober, sit with him when he went through withdrawal, make the extract… but nothing she did could make him better, not in the long run. The best thing she could have done was get away. Now that she had, she had no intention of going back.

It was fine.

Except that it wasn't. She might not return to Ostwick, but she couldn't avoid her family forever… nor did she want to, not really. Family was… family. It was important, but she couldn't forever pretend Cullen wasn't in her life whenever they decided to show up, nor leave him behind should she go for a visit. She hated being a disappointment, but it seemed unavoidable in this situation… either she'd be one to him, or to her family. She wasn't sure which one felt worse.

Elsa pushed herself out of bed and got dressed. Then she went around the room, tidying up. She took Cullen's armour stand and clothing rack, dragged them up to the loft, made the bed and organised the desk. Another glance around before she checked the time. A few more minutes — she was never late.

A sharp knock sounded below exactly at the time they'd agreed on the night before. Nerves sprouted in her stomach, stirring up a faint sense of nausea. Perhaps she should have eaten something… Elsa walked down the stairs, trying to ground herself with every step.

_Just be honest… don't lie. She'll understand._

She sighed deeply and rolled back her shoulders. Then, after a short moment of hesitation, she opened the door.

"Maker, darling, that is a lot of stairs! Couldn't they get you a room on a lower level?"

"Good morning, Mother."

Her mother smiled and hugged her briefly, then pushed past to go upstairs ahead of her. Her dark grey hair shimmered in the sun as she turned her head, assessing her quarters. With quick steps she walked over to the balcony, examined the view, then closed the doors.

"Do you always have that open?" she asked. "It is freezing in here."

"No…" _Lie number one…_ "Just to get some fresh air."

"It is quite fresh enough now, wouldn't you say?"

She wrinkled her nose and sniffed, as if assessing what it might've been in here that her daughter had tried to air out. Elsa didn't think Cullen left a noticeable smell behind… but her mother did always have an uncanny ability for detecting anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps not being at home put her at a disadvantage, for whatever might've lingered of his scent seemed to get filed under being a normal part of the castle.

"Well," her mother said happily, her expression lightening up rather suddenly as she sat herself down on the sofa. "You have done well for yourself, haven't you?"

"I… can't complain," Elsa conceded, following her gesture to sit down beside her. "I mean, we are fighting a war… but we were lucky to find this place and call it home."

"It's not just the place, dear," her mother said, lips pursed as she continued to look around. "Though it isn't bad. Cold… but I suppose that's just something to look past. No, I meant your position. There were some interesting people at that gathering last night and that dear Josephine tells me you have made a lot more important contacts in Orlais as well. The Trevelyan name is more relevant than ever in the Marches, you know. Now I see why."

"Oh," Elsa said blankly. She hadn't considered the effects of her work on the family name, nor did she consider it of particular importance at the moment. "That's… good?"

"It is." A sly smile formed on her lips. "Business has been tremendous with all these wars being fought. Countries never have more need of food and supplies than when their own infrastructure is in upheaval. Well done, dear."

"Well done?" Elsa stared at her for a long moment. "You realise I didn't start the war, right?"

"Yes, yes," she said dismissively, waving her hand, "You know perfectly well what I mean, girl, don't pretend to be dim. I am paying you a compliment, Maker above."

Elsa stared at her. She wasn't sure what to unpack first here — her mother's casual implication that she planned all of this for her family's monetary gain or the fact that she was trying, in the oddest way, to be kind. Both were equally strange.

"Thank you?" she managed eventually.

"You're welcome," her mother said magnanimously. "Now, dear, I do want to apologise for Nicolai last night. It was… unfortunate for him to disgrace himself like that, in front of your guests. You know how he gets."

Elsa straightened herself up a little. It was embarrassing to think how she'd frozen up, like that girl in the attic would have done, as well as the things he'd said in front of her other guests and friends. Yet more disturbing… if Cullen hadn't intervened, she might've raised her power against him without meaning to in her defence. No matter how serious the situation got… that could never be the answer.

"He… seems rather bad at the moment."

"Your older brothers do their best to keep the Ostwick Order together, but it isn't easy." Lady Trevelyan pulled up her nose in disgust. "A lot of crime has risen up in the city, illegal lyrium trade running rampant. Nic has never had such an easy time… indulging."

"… It can't go on like this, Mother" Elsa sighed, "You must see that. Perhaps if you just let him join —"

"You know very well why he can't," her mother snapped. "Besides… what is there left to join?"

"Alright… alright."

Elsa looked at her hands, steeling her nerves. Even if she hadn't realised it before, it was more clear than ever that Cullen had been correct… she wasn't the same around her family. Somehow her mother's gaze alone was enough for her to revert back to what she was before, undo all the progress she'd made. She hated herself for that… but she wasn't sure how to change it. Just the thought of trying made her heart heavy in her chest.

"I… haven't really told you more about Myca," she said quietly. "I'm sorry I couldn't find him in time. If… his ashes were scattered in Orlais, where he fell in battle. It's… a beautiful place. I can take you there some day, if you want."

Her mother took a deep breath, bowing her head and closing her eyes. Her mouth moved in silent prayer for a long moment, then she looked back up.

"Perhaps, one day," she said evenly, though Elsa detected a rare hint of emotion underlying her calm exterior. "Knowing he is at peace is enough for the moment. At least we have that."

"Yeah…"

"Enunciate properly, dear."

"Yes, mother," she said automatically. "Sorry."

"Now…" She got up, shaking off whatever grief might still have been left. "Everyone here knows about you, yes?"

"Yes… I would have died if I hadn't used it."

"Well, in that case this _is_ the better outcome. It is unfortunate, but you seem to have mitigated the damage well. We should move quickly and get you settled, now that you have reached peak desirability. Strike while the iron is hot."

Elsa's eyes widened. "_That_ is why you're here?"

"Of course. It was always the plan, dear," she continued, unabated by the disbelief in her voice. "Now your chances have increased even more, despite your… complications. Did you meet anyone in particular at the Winter Palace we should consider?"

"What — No, I didn't. Mother —"

"Oh, I'm sure there's someone, although I am not so sure of investing in Orlais." She'd moved over to the desk and was sifting through some documents… some of which were Cullen's. "Antiva has performed consistently and the promise of trade opportunities is not to be ignored. We had to put your engagement plans on hold when you went on your mission, but I am sure Lord Ricci will still be more than interested, especially now. Your work has strengthened our bargaining position immensely."

"Hold on," Elsa interjected, springing up from the sofa. "My mission?"

"We told people you left home to spread the word of the Maker," her mother answered simply, not looking up from the report she had in her hand. "You attended the Conclave with our blessing and Andraste rewarded you for your hard work. Now, as for a time frame to be wed —"

"Mother, stop!"

Lady Trevelyan looked up. Elsa felt her blood pulsing in her cheeks as her breath climbed into her chest. Her mother's brow rose a tick. "What is it, dear? You look quite ill."

"I am not ill, mother," she sighed, "I will simply not be marrying anyone… not any time soon. Please, stop planning such a thing."

Lady Trevelyan's eyes turned to winter before her. When she spoke again, her voice was as still as the frost. "Not marry?"

"No," Elsa asserted, pushing back her shoulders. "I won't. I… don't want to."

"_Want_ has never been part of the equation, dear." Her tone and expression were not hostile, yet Elsa felt herself shrink nonetheless. Unlike her brother, her mother didn't need to raise her voice to make herself heard. "Our situation has improved since you took this position, but we cannot rest on our laurels. We need to secure our power while we're ahead. Who knows how quickly these new allies will turn on you?"

"They might turn on the Inquisition, but that won't change _our_ standing," Elsa argued, "and I… can't even think about this right now. You do realise the enemy we are fighting? The things I've seen since I came here?"

"Yes, yes, we've heard the stories." She returned her attention to one of the papers, evidently quite done with the conversation. "We can wait until this magister is vanquished, as long as you don't take too many risks. It won't do to see you damaged any further." She cast a quick glance at her upper arm. "As soon as —"

"No!"

Her mother dropped her hand holding the report again, anger now flashing across her features. "_No?_"

"No, mother." Elsa shook her head. "I am sorry, but I won't. I couldn't. I'll help the family in whatever way my position allows, but I am not marrying some lord solely for the connection. Besides I… am involved already."

Her mother's eyes narrowed to slits as she assessed her — this woman who had replaced her daughter and who was suddenly rejecting her demands. Elsa swallowed as she waited, forcing every fibre in her body to remain strong in the face of her scrutiny.

"No, you're not."

She hadn't expected that. Her head edged towards her, disbelieving of what it had just heard. "Excuse me? I do believe I am."

"No," her mother said resolutely with a quick shake of her head, "You're not."

"I am, mother," she asserted. "I have been —"

"That commander, is it?"

"Eh…" She blinked. "Yes."

"Of course," her mother said with a heavy sigh, her air of despondency rivalling that of an opera singer during a dramatic reveal.

"What do you mean 'of course'?"

Esme Trevelyan put the report down. "My dear, it's not that I do not understand," she said, her tone softening as she walked towards her. "He is handsome, and you must have been lonely out here by yourself, with everything you've been through. But you need to understand the difference between a diversion and a relationship."

Elsa stared at her hands as her mother took to holding them, then at her. "Cullen is not a diversion, Mother. We have been together for months… I love him."

"Months," she repeated blankly. "You base love on that, my dear? You don't need me to tell you that is a silly notion. Besides, he's a soldier — hardly the type to be around a lot. And haven't you been away yourself on all those missions dear Josephine told us about? How much time did you really spend with him, out of those… months?"

"I…" Her response tripped over her mother's words, then got scrambled in her head. "I haven't — it's not set in stone, I'll admit, but I know him better than some duke I would marry for the connection. He's a good man."

"Perhaps," her mother conceded, "but consider the reality of it, dear. What kind of future would he offer you? You can marry anyone on the continent right now. Do you really think there are no good men to be found of our standing? Men who can offer you the type of life you deserve?"

"Mother…" Elsa pulled her hands free and walked away, taking a deep breath. "I don't just want to be comfortable somewhere. I… can change things. I can make things better, for everyone. That's the kind of life I want."

"And this templar can help you with that?" she asked, her sharp eyebrow raised. "You are a mage, my dear. How long do think that will last?"

"He's not a templar anymore, Mother," Elsa sighed, "He is not on lyrium. He is brave and kind, and he cares for me — he's the best man I know. I will not be marrying anyone while this war is going on, but… it would mean a lot if you tried to get to know him. Please."

Her mother's almond eyes, that always made people comment on how much they looked alike, assessed her from head to toe. She went over to the balcony doors, where she looked out over the mountains in silence with her back turned towards her. Elsa remained where she was, spine straight and hands folded before her, waiting for her verdict while she tried to keep herself from shaking. Her mother came back after a while. Her slender hand, soft and more wrinkled than she remembered it to be, grazed her cheek as she cupped her daughter's face within it.

"Well, my dear," she said evenly, "If he has earned your good opinion, I suppose I would be remiss if I did not."

She searched her mother's face, but saw no deception there. She was smiling gently, warm even… like she had done few times before. "Thank you," she whispered, putting her arms around her. Her mother held her, stroking her back in the way she used to do when she was a girl. Elsa breathed a laugh of relief, shivering as the nerves melted from her chest.


	52. Undermine

Though Cullen tried to let go of the previous night's events, he found it proved itself nearly impossible. He noticed himself glancing up at the tower every few minutes, wondering at what was transpiring in there. She'd invited her mother for breakfast and, supposedly, to tell her about them. Part of him wondered whether they shouldn't have done it together, although he couldn't at all be sure how he'd deal with the situation should her mother indeed disapprove. He'd promised Elsa he'd try to not let her brother's actions speak too strongly against her… but that in itself was no easy task.

He didn't understand the allegiance she had to them, not really. Her mother's care for her did not appear to go beyond the utmost surface level, while her brother's seemed non-existent. From the few things she'd told him, there was little in her past that would warrant such loyalty. Beyond a sense of duty from having been provided for, he saw little reason for them to have earned her affection and forgiveness. In fact, it would most definitely appear she'd been better off without them.

Of course not everyone could be as fortunate as he had been with his family. His parents were busy, often tired to the bone from working the farm to provide for four children, but they were happy. He regretted not seeing them again before they died in the Blight, but his memories of them from before he joined the templars were nothing but positive. Sitting around the table for dinner, by the fire at night, hear his father humming as he worked in the yard, his mother singing to his younger siblings… His siblings were a clear result of their parents' good nature. Mia in particular perhaps, who cared deeply for him — a little too much at times — and who had supported him in all his decisions for as long as he could remember.

Elsa seemed to have received none of these things from her family, no love and no support… and it angered him. He told himself he should get it under control, for even if she would stand up to her mother, he doubted they'd seen the last of them. He'd have to deal with them on occasion, it was only normal… yet he fervently wished their current conversation would end in her telling them to pack their bags.

No news came to him all morning, a state of oblivion that continued until the afternoon. He took to his office after lunch, deciding to get through the paperwork early as long as Elsa had suspended their daily briefings while her family was around. It was a modest pile of reports today, one that would keep him occupied for an hour or two. Perhaps he could check in on her once he'd finished. Tonight, no matter what the outcome of the morning was, he would take her to a dinner in the tavern, to which no family was invited.

A sharp knock on the door made him look up, expecting a runner with some addition to his workload from one of the other advisers. Instead he was surprised by the slender, statuesque silhouette of Lady Trevelyan standing before him. She looked a lot taller than she was, standing with her back straight and the autumn sun glowing on the back of her head.

"Commander," she greeted him. "May I enter?"

"Lady Trevelyan… Of course. Please do."

She glided into the room, observing her surroundings with a quick glance. Her eye fell on the barrels and crates still stacked in the corner. Cullen hadn't really thought about them until he saw her gaze briefly linger on them, before it continued its sweep across his desk and bookcases. Now that he'd been reminded… he wished he'd had them removed earlier.

"What can I do for you, My Lady?"

Her eyes finally came to rest on his face. There was some warmth in them and yet… there it was again — the strange sensation that he'd been in this situation before. It crept up on him once more, like ants crawling over his spine.

"My daughter informs me of your involvement with her, Commander," she said airily, "As such, I have promised her I will get to know you while I am here."

"Oh…" So she _had_ told her. While it had been their agreement, he'd partly expected Elsa to not actually go through with it. She'd been so fragile, so… not her, that it did not seem impossible in the least she'd get cold feet. But here it was… she had told her. And so far, the lady did not seem too upset. "I see. Please, have a seat, My Lady."

"You may drop the honorifics, Commander," Lady Trevelyan told him, sitting herself down in the chair across his desk and straightening out her skirt. She didn't lean against the backrest but maintained the posture that many a templar would be hard-pressed to keep up for long. With her hands neatly folded in her lap she directed her attention then to him, fixing him in place in a way that was far too familiar. "After all, we might be family one day. Please, call me Esme."

He considered her for a long moment. With anyone else he wouldn't think twice about the request — rather, he'd consider it a positive development within a conversation. With her… it only intensified his suspicions.

"Thank you… Lady Esme. Please, Cullen is enough."

"Good."

A silence fell that stretched on for several, agonising seconds. Cullen wasn't sure whether he was expected to speak, or whether it was bad form to do so… if he was, then what was he to say? He wished Elsa would have found him first and relayed how her own conversation had concluded. What was one to say to the parent of someone you'd recently started cohabiting with?

"What would you like to know, My — Lady Esme?"

"Oh, nothing too abhorrent, I assure you," the lady said conversationally, "Only something to give me a sense of the person that has swept my daughter off her feet."

He felt himself flush like a schoolboy and subsequently cursed himself for doing so. "Of course… I am at your disposal."

"You are from Honnleath, I hear? In the Arling of Redcliffe?"

"Ah… Yes. Do you know it?"

"I have visited the area. My husband and I passed through it many years ago."

"I hope you were there in the right season," Cullen joked, "It doesn't leave the best impression in winter."

She smiled faintly. "It was summer. I recall it being quite charming… Your village was destroyed during the Blight, correct?"

"It… was. I have not been back there since I joined the templars. I hear it has since been rebuilt."

"Your family?"

"… My parents didn't make it. My siblings now live in South Reach."

"What are their positions?"

"Positions?"

"Yes. Their line of work."

"Ah. My older sister is a seamstress. My younger siblings are a blacksmith apprentice and handmaiden for the youngest daughter of House Bryland."

"And you decided to become a templar? It must have taken some convincing, for the Order to let you join."

"It did. I… asked the templars at the local Chantry to teach me. A visiting knight-captain took an interest in me when I was thirteen and offered my parents to let me join."

"And your reason for being this motivated?"

He shifted a little in his seat. "To help protect the people, Lady Esme. I thought one could have no better purpose."

"… Indeed."

Lady Trevelyan pursed her lips slightly and momentarily broke off the intense gaze she had maintained during the third-degree. Cullen breathed a quiet exhale while he had the chance. What was the deal with this strange line of questioning? Was it strange? Perhaps it was perfectly normal in this situation… whatever this situation was supposed to be exactly. He simply couldn't tell, which only added to his nerves. Should he be asking her questions as well, or was he simply to answer hers?

"Cullen," the lady resumed, "Much of my life has been dedicated to the Chantry, and I have gotten to know many a templar in the process. Not only that, I have raised five sons according to Chantry teachings and with similar aspirations as your own."

_I hope you did a better job with the other four._ He chided himself silently for the thought… warranted as he thought it was.

"As you may be aware, two of them hold positions you once held yourself. My point being, I understand you must be a busy man, who would not want me to waste your time." Her tone remained smooth, almost friendly. "My daughter is very taken with you and has done nothing but sing your praises since I arrived."

"I —" He reflexively reached for the back of his neck. She didn't beat around the bush… it was clear where Elsa had picked that up. "I… am very taken with her, My Lady."

"Of course you are," Esme said blankly, "You and half the men under your command, I imagine."

His hand froze behind his head. "Excuse me?"

"Elsa is admired wherever she goes," her mother stated, "She is beautiful, intelligent and sweet of temper. It is hardly surprising she'd pique your interest."

"I…" He'd dropped his hand and was now staring at her. "I am more than merely interested in her, My Lady. I care deeply for your daughter."

"Very good, we have that in common then." She crossed one leg over the other, leaning back in her chair ever so slightly as she raised her chin. "So let us speak plainly. What are your intentions?"

"Intentions?"

"With Elsa. Right now you are fighting this war and she has made it clear it is not her intention to be married while it is going on. What I want to know is what happens after."

Cullen felt his pulse quicken. "I… we neither have set plans for when the war ends."

"Do you intend to marry her?"

He didn't think this was her business in the least, but was unsure if she didn't have a right to be asking such questions. Although he wasn't yet planning to propose to Elsa, it was odd to hear she'd discussed it with her mother before it had been a topic between the two of them. "I would not want to be presumptuous in assuming she would want that," he said carefully, "but… I love her. It is my every intention to do right by her, in whatever way that may be."

"I do not doubt that it is," Esme murmured, "and what if doing right by her is letting go of this attachment?"

"I… see no reason why that would be the case."

"Do you not?" Esme tilted her head slightly. "What can you offer her?" she continued, her tone still as breezy as if she were asking him what he'd had for breakfast that morning. "Elsa has everything — a name, status, wealth, influence… What can you add to her life, Cullen?"

As thrilling as it had been to hear Elsa speak his name, hearing it spoken from her mother's lips made his skin crawl. A mild headache began to thump behind his eyes, slowly pushing itself to the front. He swallowed away his nerves, forcing himself to not avert his gaze.

"I can offer her love," he said steadily, "I can support and protect her, as I have done since she joined the Inquisition."

"That is a nice sentiment, Cullen," she replied gently, leaning forward a little, "I am sure your feelings right now are genuine, but let us be realistic. You were in Kirkwall. You understand how this world works. You know how ugly it is. You do not need me to tell you what will happen to this organisation once you have achieved your goal — how quickly the tables will turn on you. Tell me, once they do… where will that leave you?" Her neatly trimmed eyebrows rose a tick. "Do you think your love is enough to stand against the world, once the vultures come for her?"

"I… think you do not give her enough credit," he said, fighting the anxiety flailing inside his chest. "She has shown immense strength since she came here. As long as she decides she wants me by her side, I do not think it —"

"And I think you should not presume to know her better than I do." Lady Trevelyan's eyes narrowed slightly, a faint golden flicker dancing in the brown of her irises. "She is my daughter. For years, I have kept her safe, helped her become who she is today. She is strong because I raised her to be strong, but she is also a young girl who is yet to find herself. Do you not think anything amiss with her settling for the first good-looking, available man she comes across after leaving home for the first time, one who so resembles her own father and brothers?"

Her words dropped into his stomach like a brick. He swallowed at the constriction in this throat, the rising pressure in his head. Lady Trevelyan looked him over, her eyes gentle, pitying almost. Then she got up from her seat and turned around once she reached the door.

"Elsa is a good judge of character, Cullen — I taught her how. I have no doubt that you are a good man. I cannot make decisions for her, but if you indeed care for her, you may want to reconsider this attachment. First loves rarely work out, even when they are equally matched — it will likely spare her more hurt further down the line."

With a graceful nod she swept from his office, leaving him to stare at the door. His mind looped through the conversation, feverishly trying to make sense of it. Anger leapt to life in his defence. He resented her, even more than he had to begin with… How dare she meddle in anything, in this way? Had she told Elsa the same things? More importantly… had she listened?

Yet accompanying that anger were his longtime anxieties and fears, his feelings of discomfort whenever he was forced to interact with the nobility. He knew the differences between them did not reflect poorly on him — on a rational level he knew they had nothing on him that was of real value. And yet… Elsa was used to a certain life, a life that the Inquisition had been able to provide. Did she expect a mansion, a castle, once it would no longer exist? Were there other, less tangible things that he was not aware of she valued? Things he could not provide?

Was he selfish in keeping her to himself, rather than let her explore and find out more of who she was? He'd thought her learning to use magic was all there was to it, but was there more? Was it wrong to keep her bound to him, when she might be happier with someone else? He hadn't been in another relationship except for her and there was no doubt in his mind he wanted it to last. But she was younger than he was, something which he was even more aware of since her mother arrived. Perhaps he was just something she wanted now, a stable presence while the world was going mad. Perhaps, once it was over… she'd want something else.

Cullen sat like this, frozen in place save for his mind spinning in circles, until the sun hung low in the sky. Then, quite suddenly, he pushed away from the table and made for the tower. He'd been face to face with demons, abominations, blood mages and worse… he wasn't going to let himself be swayed by one woman, no matter how expertly she was trying to prod at his insecurities.

o - o - o

Elsa was in their chambers when he arrived, writing letters at the desk. She looked up as he entered, a wide smile instantly lighting up her face.

"There you are," she said happily, putting down her quill. "I told her. Everything is fine."

"… It is?"

She nodded happily. "It… wasn't easy. She admitted coming here to help me get settled, but I told her I don't want it. My family wasn't doing well financially by the time I left," she explained, twisting the lid onto an ink vial, "Investments that didn't pay off, a couple of bad years for the harvest, instability in the Chantry… It was always the plan that I'd use my union to strengthen our position, but now my work here has done that." She got up and came towards him, looking positively enamoured as she curled her fingers into his cloak. "Now I can be with whomever I want," she murmured, leaning in to kiss him, "and so I told her about you."

"I didn't know…" Cullen leaned back against the balustrade, loosely placing his hands on her waist. "What did she say?"

"She was a little resistant at first," Elsa sighed, "but then she accepted it. We had a really nice time afterwards, I think…" She looked up, her cheeks slightly flushed and her eyes sparkling. "I think maybe things might be different between us from now on."

"I see. That's good."

Her head dropped to the side. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy. I said we'd have dinner with her tonight — she promised she'd talk to Nic, so we don't have a repeat of last night. He can be nice, you know, he just —"

"I won't join you for dinner."

A frown knotted between her eyes. "How come? Do you have work?"

"No…" He sighed and looked out of the window. "I… I am sorry, Elsa. If you think your relationship with her is improving then I am glad, but… She came to see me and… it wasn't a pleasant conversation."

"It wasn't?" Her eyebrows rose expectantly. "But… it's good she came to see you. She said she'd try to get to know you."

"Yes, that is the reason she gave."

"What did you talk about?"

"I… she asked me where I'm from, what my siblings do —"

"Those hardly seem like offensive questions."

"That… depends on the intention behind them. She also suggested I might not be able to provide you with the life you want, or deserve."

Elsa breathed a laugh, her shoulders sagging in relief… it made his stomach clench. "She's just concerned," she said easily, her hands running up his shoulders. "It's a big step for her to consider someone outside of our normal social circles. She can be a little insensitive in how she talks about —"

"I really don't think that's all there was to it."

"Cullen," she sighed, "You said you'd try to not let Nic's behaviour count against her. She can be a lot, I know. You don't have to love her, but she wants the best for me."

"Elsa…" He pinched his nose in an attempt to subvert the tension building in his eyes. He didn't want to resort to badmouthing her mother, but if she wasn't going to see it… "I'm sorry, but I do not think that is true. I think she was trying to make me doubt my own feelings for you and that she would try to do the same with you. She's not on our side."

"No," she said, shaking her head, "We talked about it… she asked me questions about you. She was supportive."

"Then I think she is manipulating you. You must have learned it from someone… right?"

Her cheer had vanished completely, making way for a quiet vexation. "That's unfair," she said, pushing away from him. "You were predisposed to dislike them."

"Damn right I was," he argued, "and they have done absolutely nothing to change my mind."

"They're not perfect, but they're also just people, Cullen! She is trying — she told me she would try. You can do the same, at least."

"I am trying."

"Hardly," she scoffed, "You take every opportunity to voice your dislike of the nobility. Much as you don't want to see it, I am part of that group as well, you know?"

"It's not about that! It's about your mother trying to undermine you behind your back. How do you not see it? It's no different than how they treated you for being a mage."

"This again," Elsa sighed, rolling her eyes. "It was necessary! You're just being unreasonable."

"_I_ am being unreasonable? Me? Not the person who locked you up and suppressed you for years?"

"Because you are above such practices yourself?"

Her hand shot to her lips, trying to catch the words they should never have spoken. They pierced his armour as if it were vapour, striking deep in the recesses of his heart. He drew a sharp breath through his nose, watching the horror surface in her eyes and spread across the rest of her features.

"Cullen, I —"

"That's a low blow."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, "I didn't mean that. I'm —"

"Whatever I have done, I would never, not in all the ages, treat you like they do."

"I know that. I know. Cullen, I…"

They stared at each other for a long minute, neither of them sure how to recover from her slight. Cullen wondered what he could have done differently… How had they even ended up here, standing a few feet apart with a rift between them that seemed to span for miles?

He walked to the window, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe they're right," he said with a bitter laugh, turning back to her, "Maybe they are right. Maybe I am just a simpleton that you've charmed, impressed by your looks and your grace like anyone would be. Maybe I have no idea what is going on here. I should just stick to keeping you warm at night, until you decide you're too good for me after all."

Tears sprung up in her eyes. "You don't really believe that."

"I do not," he said sharply, "but you are damn sure acting like it."

The doors to the balcony had been shut, eliminating the sounds of the wind in the mountains or the activity in the keep around dinner time. All that was left was the suffocating silence, smothering the good memories they'd been making in the room over the past weeks and months. He wouldn't be taking her to the tavern tonight… there was no need to taint another of his favourite places with her mother's poison.

"I should go," he said eventually.

"Go?"

"I'll sleep in my office tonight."

"What?" She stepped closer, reaching for him, but changing her mind as he stepped back. "No, please, Cullen… Stay. Let's talk about this."

"No." He didn't want to leave. Maker knew he wanted to hug her, sleep by her side, and for them to be okay… but he didn't know how to make it happen. "Forgive me. It's not the end of the conversation but… I don't think it's a good idea to continue it. We'll… talk in the morning."

"But…" She looked around with panicked eyes. A few times she seemed ready to speak, only to drop the attempt. Perhaps she was searching for a way to mend the situation as well, but having no more luck than he was. All she managed in the end was a weak, "… but your stuff is here."

He glanced around and sighed. It would be inconvenient, but he'd manage for a night. Fortunately he hadn't had the bed removed from his loft. He quickly walked past her, over to where his extract was, and grabbed a vial for the night.

"Cullen…" she said again, following him to the stairs. "Please… let me fix this."

"I don't think you can right now. Right now… I just feel bad." He lingered on the landing and looked at her, the hurt in her eyes stinging like a thousand needles. She regretted what she'd said, that much was clear, but as long as she wouldn't see his point… what was he to do about it? "Have a good night, Elsa," he said quietly, "I'll be by in the morning."

The door swung shut behind him and he left their chambers behind, the cold hanging in the stairwell biting in his bones.


	53. Choices

He exited into the main hall, blind to his surroundings and unsure of where he was going. Varric wasn't around, which removed the possibility of dragging him off to the tavern for a distraction. Perhaps he'd take his horse and go for a ride. Perhaps he'd spring an impromptu training session on his soldiers. Perhaps —

Cassandra was bashing on a training dummy in the courtyard with as much conviction as if it were a dragon. She caught his eye as he stalked by, her brow furrowing in concern.

"Do you need a sparring partner?" she called out to him.

He halted in his tracks and looked back to the keep. "Maker's breath," he growled, "Yes, please."

They went for multiple rounds — best of three turning into best of five, and eventually best of thirteen. A crowd formed initially — growing larger until they were tied four to four — then died down as the onlookers went to have dinner and eventually relax for the evening. Cassandra did not hold back for the entire duration and eventually took a well-earned victory. He didn't mind. The important thing was that he was thoroughly exhausted by the end and the anger had left his body completely. While the absence made way for the hurt to surface stronger, it was the best he could have hoped for.

They went to the tavern after clearing off the dirt and sat together at the bar, devouring whatever the speciality was for the night. The Seeker sighed contently afterwards, wiping her grease-stained mouth with the back of her hand.

"You seem happy," Cullen chuckled, tossing aside the last of the bones from his own roast.

"Good meal after a good fight? Nothing like it," she declared. "Except maybe a nice bath." She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, her expression slowly turning back to its regular seriousness.

"Something on your mind?" he asked. "Seemed like you had some things to work out in that ring yourself."

"Ah… Have you heard Leliana and I are up to be the next Divine?"

He blinked. "No. I think I would have remembered that."

"Well… now you have." Though her face was still sharp and marked by battle, she had removed the liner she wore around her eyes after their match. It made her look younger and more approachable, especially when she said, "I doubt I would be able to have many moments like this, if I held that position."

"You… could change the rules so you can."

She huffed a laugh. "Perhaps. Although there are more pressing things to change."

Cullen pushed his plate away and folded his arms before him, letting his tired muscles relax by resting himself on the bar. "You would change things?"

"Of course. The Chantry should provide faith and hope. Instead, it has been spinning in circles, chasing its own tail. It needs reform."

"And you would bring it about?"

"I could… perhaps I should." She leaned her elbows on the bar, her eyes faraway. Then she looked down on him, one eyebrow raised inquisitively. "What would you do differently?"

Cullen spun his mug around with lazy taps against the handle, thinking. "Elsa and I discussed that a while ago. The Circles have their place, but it can't stay the way it was… especially in regards to how they separate mages from society. Personally, I would want templars to find a way back to protecting the innocent… and make it safer to leave."

"I agree," Cassandra murmured, nodding along.

"… Do you want to be Divine?"

She shrugged. "I have never believed in asking another to do what you are unwilling to do yourself. If that is what it takes for the Chantry to survive, I will do it."

He hummed in assent. It would have been nice to have this conversation with Elsa there as well. With how much people looked to them at the moment, the Inquisitor might be able to exert some influence over who the next Divine should be. Although Cullen liked Leliana well enough, she could be extremely ruthless to the point that it frightened him. If he and Elsa could sit together with Cassandra and she might ascend to the Sunburst Throne… perhaps it was the first step in their plans to make a difference.

First, however… he'd have to be on speaking terms with her himself again.

"Are you alright?" Cassandra inquired. "You looked quite murderous before. Is it something you want to talk about?"

"Not really… Elsa and I had a fight."

"Something to do with her family?"

"Obviously, but… let's not get into it. I'll figure it out."

Cassandra nodded and took a long draught from her drink.

"How certain is it?" he asked her.

"That I will be chosen? Not certain at all. The clerics speak my name. For now, that is all."

"I see…"

They sat and drank in silence for a long while, each contemplating their own situations. Cullen held his hand over his mug when the barkeep made to refill it. Bad as he felt right now, there was little point in getting drunk. He'd rather keep his mind clear to figure out what to say come morning.

He bade Cassandra goodbye once she'd finished her drink as well and watched her walk in the direction of her quarters. It was hard to imagine her in the red and white robes… with the hat, she would be taller than a Qunari. Regarding the change she would try to make however… he didn't know anyone more qualified.

"For what it's worth," he called after her, "I think you'd make a good Divine."

She turned around and smiled, then raised her hand in a parting salute. He returned the gesture, tapping his fist twice against his chest. Some things were simple among soldiers… he didn't regret that at all, no matter what anyone said.

He collected his armour from where he'd left it in the training grounds and went up to his tower. Likely he wouldn't be able to sleep much tonight. It was late already, long past midnight. Fortunately time had passed quickly with Cassandra's help. Now, however, he was looking at a couple of long hours in which he had little to do but reflect on the day.

Even reports were better than that.

He didn't get to focus on them for long. Soon after he'd settled in behind his desk to do some work, a trio of voices approached his office from the northern wall. Cullen checked the schedule for the day — recruits Will, Carson, and Taylor on guard duty, though they shouldn't be patrolling the same stretch of wall simultaneously. He was ready to go out and tell them off, when their conversation reached him through the window.

"Are you sure we shouldn't go to her directly?" one voice said.

"Since when do you feel comfortable waltzing up to the Inquisitor?" the second replied. "Besides, her windows are dark."

"Then we're not going to have any luck finding him. I'm telling you, he sleeps in the Inquisitor's quarters these days."

"Lucky bastard," another laughed.

"Then why is there light on?"

"Maybe he forgot."

"Should we leave it?"

"Then what are we going to with that guy?"

"Maybe they're not asleep."

"You want to disturb them at night when they're _not_ asleep?"

Cullen sighed, rolling his eyes. "I can hear you!"

A silence lingered on the other side of the wall. The door creaked open a short while after and one of the guards poked his head in. "Good evening, Commander."

"Get in, Will," Cullen grunted, directing his attention back to his report, "and let's pretend you know better than to gossip about your superiors."

"Yes, Commander." Will opened the door and the trio filed in, looking awkwardly at each other.

None of them spoke for a long moment, so Cullen looked up from the document again. "What? Have you forgotten how to relay a report?"

"It's not that, ser…" He shifted uncomfortably in place, glancing at the others who seemed no more inclined to explain what was going on. "There… might be merit in not filing an official report in this case."

That got his attention. "Why?" he asked, putting down the paper. "What is it?"

"… It might be better if you come with us, Commander."

He followed his men down to the barracks, then through to the storage facilities. The familiar song grew loud as he neared the end of the hallway, where the templars' lyrium stock lay securely stored behind a set of locked doors. Before they reached it, however, they led him into a small room off to the side. Cullen blinked as he stood in the doorway, seeing the light of his torch illuminate the interior. Normally it only housed a number of miscellaneous pieces of equipment and cleaning supplies. Tonight, it had an unexpected addition.

"I found him trying to break into the lyrium stores, Commander," Will said quietly, eyeing the shape of Nicolai Trevelyan sitting slumped on the floor. "He wouldn't leave, so I called the others. We weren't sure what to do with him, considering his connection to the Inquisitor…"

Cullen let out a long sigh. "You did alright, Will. Leave this to me and don't spread it around… for the moment."

The men shuffled away, evidently happy to have been relieved of the burden in dealing with the Inquisitor's drunk of a brother. Cullen could smell the alcohol from where he was standing, though he hadn't seen Nicolai in the tavern. He'd probably ordered bottles up to his room straight from the kitchen, after which he'd gone scouting around for a dose of lyrium. Now he sat on the floor, his mouth slightly open as he leaned his cheek against the wall.

Cullen secured his torch in a bracket on the wall and sat down on an overturned crate, resting his elbows on his legs. For a while he remained like that, observing the noble lord with his dirtied finery and pale blond hair. The other kept his eyes closed for some time, but opened them eventually, casting a glance in his direction without turning his head.

"Great," Nicolai muttered, "You."

"Who did you think they would call, when you're dumb enough to try and steal from our supplies?" Cullen retorted. "Be grateful it's me and not our spymaster. She's not in the habit of taking prisoners."

"Might have been better for her to find me then."

Cullen frowned, a little taken aback by this sudden declaration. It could be merely the ramblings of a drunken man… but somehow it didn't feel like it.

"You want to die?"

"I want to live," Nicolai said darkly, his eyes faraway as he stared at the ground, "Maybe that's the only way."

"You're not making sense."

"I don't expect you to understand… you have everything."

"… _I_ have everything? What happened to commoner dog?"

"That just makes it worse!" the man spat, glaring at him. "You lead armies, people look up to you — you are making a difference! You even have my sister's devotion. What did you do to deserve all that?"

Cullen gave him a measuring look. "I didn't know you had such a high opinion of her," he said coolly.

"You don't know me," Nicolai muttered, "Or our family. She's my sister."

"And what does that mean?" Cullen snarled, "You treat her like garbage."

"Only because… she makes me angry."

"… Why?"

"It's… like a mirror. It's painful to look at someone and see yourself. Suddenly… your failures are staring right back at you."

Despite his level of intoxication, Nicolai Trevelyan's voice remained cultured, educated. He wasn't a stupid man, not by a long shot, much as Cullen wanted to believe it. Perhaps… he'd have an easier time in his life's situation if he had been.

"You're pathetic," Cullen huffed, "You could have done whatever you wanted with your background. Instead of breaking free from your mother's binds you replace it with those of alcohol and lyrium."

"What do you know of it?" Nicolai mumbled. "You don't know what it's like to have your whole life planned for you. Why do anything, if everything is taken out of your hands?"

"Cry me a river. Elsa didn't just sit around, waiting for things to happen to her. She got out."

"Did she really? Have you seen her since our mother sank her claws into her again?" Nicolai raised his brow, giving him a questioning look. Cullen looked away, feeling Elsa's insults sting once more like barbed wire coiling in his lungs. "You don't get out of families like ours," Nic finished solemnly when he didn't answer. "They're a part of you as much as you're a part of them."

"So the solution is to drink yourself into a stupor or dose up on lyrium?"

"Why not? You're taking it."

"I'm not actually. I quit."

He raised his head, swaying slightly as he tried to focus his gaze. "That's not possible."

"It's not easy…" Cullen shrugged, "but it would appear possible so far."

"I suppose you aren't dead," Nicolai stated, looking him over with hazy eyes.

"No, I'm quite alive."

"Huh…"

He sagged a little further against the wall, seeming quite ready to go to sleep. Cullen considered what to do with him. He couldn't very well leave him here, where he'd be found by more of his men in the morning. Much as he didn't mind the man disgracing himself, he didn't want him to further add to Elsa's embarrassment, nor taint the Inquisition's reputation by association. He could take him up to his tower, let him sleep it off in the loft… That was probably the best solution.

"Do you love her?"

Nicolai looked sad and crumpled on the floor. Though he still thoroughly disliked him, Cullen could understand where Elsa's pity for him came from. If one of his siblings would be in a state like this — impossible as it was to imagine — he doubted he would remain unaffected.

"I do," he stated. "I'm going to marry her one day. It won't be any of your mother's business when or how… but I will."

"You sure you want to marry into this?" Nicolai said with a humourless chuckle, gesturing vaguely. "Believe me, the extended family is even worse."

"You're not the ones I'm choosing," Cullen shrugged.

"Brave man," Nicolai nodded heavily. He closed his eyes for a moment and seemed to drift off, then opened them again. "Hey…" he slurred, "If it matters, you know… I apologise. For what I said."

Cullen sighed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He got up and held out a hand to him. "Just get your drunken ass off the ground and upstairs. If you still mean that in the morning, you've got more important people to apologise to."

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

Elsa paced the length of their chambers, wringing her hands. Whenever she reached the stairs, she paused and stared at the door. For long moments she considered going after him, then she changed her mind. He didn't want to see her… if he ever did again. At least he said they'd talk in the morning. But that morning seemed forever away and she wasn't sure how she was going to get there.

How could she have said such a thing? The worst thing she could possibly say? It had taken so long for him to trust her, to confide in her, share the things in his past he considered his worst failings… and she had thrown them right back at him. She was usually so careful with the words she chose, so calculating in her every uttering. It wasn't like her to spit a barb in someone's face, just to win an argument. Rather… that was something her mother might do.

For a few hours, she'd been happy. Her mother had been supportive, showing an interest in Cullen and the things that had happened to her since she left home. She'd stayed for breakfast and then for lunch. Finally, they'd had the type of time together that Elsa always imagined they might have, if her magic had not stood in the way. That evening they would have dinner and Cullen would feel included and everyone would get along… it had almost seemed too good to be true, but she had been given no reason to suspect it wouldn't come to pass. At least not until Cullen had returned.

Cullen… she wanted to fix it, but how? How would this continue if they couldn't stand to be in the same room? Her mother was a lot to handle, but why did he take her concerns and mannerisms so personally against himself? There were all sorts of people he had to deal with in his lifetime… why couldn't he be a little more forgiving to an older woman, even if she was a little too set in her ways as older people tended to be?

Elsa cancelled dinner, feigning illness and sending a messenger rather than having to deal with her mother seeing her upset. She received a written note in return, telling her to feel better and to call if she needed anything. Elsa held it in her hands, smiling as her tears stained the ink. Nic had his issues, but that had nothing to do with his. They could be better… they were getting better. But if that made things worse with Cullen… was it worth it?

Her evening hours were spent in limbo. Most of the time she sat at the desk, trying to write him a letter to explain herself and apologise. Yet all it resulted in were stains on her fingers and a stack of crumpled paper in the bin. She would get up every so often, walk out onto the balcony wrapped in a blanket, and try to catch a glimpse of him below. He'd been in the sparring ring with Cassandra for most of the night, until suddenly they'd been gone. A light was on in his office when she checked back later, suggesting he'd retired. It was then, in the early morning hours, that she decided she couldn't stay in the room any longer. With the knowledge it was unlikely for her to accidentally run into him now, she went out for a walk, hoping it would help pass the remainder of the time.

She wandered the hallways, sticking to the keep rather than going out. Skyhold was quiet without the crackling of torches, the snippets of conversations, the chants from the chapel, or the distant noises from the training yard… almost ominously so. Elsa let her hand run along the heavy stones as she climbed the winding staircase towards the library, wondering at how long they would remain in the castle. If she would survive this war… she didn't know where they'd go. What she did know was that she had wanted Cullen to come with her, wherever it might be. She hadn't had any intention of it being Ostwick — no matter how good their relationship might be, she didn't think she could ever return to that after everything that had happened. But where would they go, if a time would come when they were not in need of towers with crossbows and walls to protect them from the outside world? What did such a time even look like?

She arrived in the library, taking a deep breath as she climbed the last of the steps. It was one of Skyhold's nicer rooms, one that reminded her of the one they'd had at home. She'd enjoyed being there, lying on the thick carpet with a stack of books around her, getting lost in the endless amount of stories that it provided. Perhaps she could find something in here to distract her — something for light reading rather than the heavy tomes on spirit magic she'd been working her way through recently. She walked over to a random cupboard and absentmindedly let her finger run across the spines, only to be startled by a sudden figure emerging from behind.

"Maker's ba—" She caught herself, glaring reproachfully at the offender. "Dorian? Why are you up so late?"

Dorian leaned his shoulder against the bookcase, giving her a playful smirk. "Just enjoying the splendours of the Inquisition without anyone trying to stop me." He shook the bottle he had in his hand, then took a long swig from it. "You're not going to try, are you?"

"No…" She eyed the flask, which appeared to be some kind of Qunari brew. "Be careful though, that stuff can be rough on you."

"Maybe I like it that way."

She rolled her eyes and followed him over to his usual spot in one of the alcoves. He didn't sit down, but rather rested himself against the wall and looked out of the window. The moonlight fell over his face, making his skin appear almost blue and shimmering in his coiffed moustache and hair. Elsa followed his example and stood across from him, watching the bottle make its way up again before he offered it to her. She hesitated a moment, then took it. The liquid spread through her insides and nestled itself in her head. She'd probably forget about the fight altogether if she kept drinking it… it was a tempting prospect.

"So," Dorian said, taking the bottle back, "Why aren't you asleep?"

"Ah," she murmured, looking out over the courtyard, "I wanted to be alone."

He furrowed his brow in confusion, looked out the window for a moment, then back to her. "… What?"

"Never mind. Why are you really up? Surely you are not opposed to drinking in the daytime."

"I am not," he laughed, "but I… wanted to wallow in my gloom for a while. It's harder to do so with people around that remind you of how good you really have it."

"Why? Did something happen?"

Dorian gave her an assessing look, then reached into his pocket. He pulled forth a letter and handed it to her. She unfolded it and scanned the contents, then looked to him.

"Your father wants to see you?"

"He does," Dorian murmured, directing his attention back to the window. "He has written every so often since I joined the Inquisition. Tried to go through Mother Giselle first, Maker knows why."

"Ah…" Elsa said. "Right."

"Right?" Annoyance flashed in his eyes. "You knew?"

"She approached me once, not long after we came here, and asked me to intervene," Elsa explained, giving back the letter. "Sorry… we didn't know each other all that well and I didn't think it was my business, so I left it with her."

"You're right, it's not," he huffed, stuffing it back in his pocket. "Neither is it hers. I don't know what he was thinking. Then again… I haven't understood that for some time now."

"It sounds like he's trying to reach out to you though," Elsa said hesitantly, "Shouldn't you hear him out?"

"After what he did?" Dorian snapped, "He tried to change me, and for what? Just so I would marry a woman, with no regard for the risk involved?"

"Sure, but… he's probably sorry."

He let out a scathing chuckle. "No offence, Elsa," he said darkly, "but you're not the one I would be asking for advice in this situation. Drink with me if you want, but let's leave it at that."

Elsa stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're not exactly great in managing your own family issues, are you?"

She felt herself shrink a little and hugged her arms around her torso. "I'm fine."

"Oh yeah?" A cheeky smile curled his moustache. "Tell me then. Why are you here and is there light in Cullen's office at his hour? Up until your relatives arrived you were both upstairs, living in bliss, weren't you?"

"We… had a fight," she admitted begrudgingly, "It's complicated."

"Is it now? What did you fight about?"

She rested her head against the window. The light from Cullen's office shone through the arrow slits, throwing bright yellow beams along the wall. They flickered as a shadow moved inside, then became extinguished. Several moments later, a faint glow reached from the top floor into the sky… He'd gone up.

"I said some things I shouldn't have," she sighed, the guilt twisting painfully in her chest, "I told my mum about us. She went to talk to him and he… didn't take it well. She questioned whether he can provide for me… something like that. I don't think she meant it badly, she can just be insensitive about people… from other backgrounds."

"That is a given in our families," Dorian said matter-of-factly, "but are you sure that's all that happened? Your mother doesn't seem like the type to deviate from her plans easily, especially not if it is for a Fereldan farmer's son to live in sin with her daughter. Didn't I hear you were supposed to be engaged before you left home?"

"Well…" Elsa hesitated, wondering at his choice of words. In her eagerness to offer Cullen his closet space, she hadn't considered the situation could be viewed as such by some. "Plans were being made, but it wasn't decided yet. There is no slight in calling it off. She said she accepted my decision and I think she understands things are different now. We… we had a really nice day today. Cullen thinks she's trying to break us up, but he's just being overly sensitive. You know how he feels about nobility."

Dorian took another sip from the bottle. He then let his head tilt to the side as he looked her up and down. "Elsa," he said seriously, "You don't really think that is the situation, do you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

The earnestness in her answer seemed to catch him off guard. His frown deepened and all of his usual nonchalance evaporated from his face. "Oh my," he then said softly, looking out the window.

"What?" she asked, a little offended. "If you have something to say, then —"

"My dear girl, where do I even start?" The liquid in the bottle made a faint tinkling sound as it got lifted and lowered back down. He licked his lips after, briefly biting down on his bottom one as he thought. "Do you know what I was doing, before I joined the Inquisition?" he said eventually.

"I… you said you were in Minrathous."

"Good memory. Most recently, I was, but I was all over Tevinter for a good while."

"… Doing what?"

"Drinking, mostly. I had no money, so I ran with some unsavoury crowds, did the odd job I am not particularly proud off and sold things I wish I still had. I also slept around quite a bit… though I am lucky if I remember half of the encounters."

"I see…"

"Do you? Why do you think I am telling you this?"

"I… am not sure."

"I didn't think so." He raised his chin and looked down on her. While his moustache usually added to his cheer, now it emphasised his seriousness. "Why do you think I did that to myself?"

She thought, but couldn't think of a reason why someone would willingly put themselves through such an ordeal. "I don't know."

"I knew for a long time that I was different," he explained, "I felt it, even when I didn't know yet why. I knew I would never live up to the standard my family set for me… so I lashed out. Eventually my antics became too much for them and my father… well, you know the rest. I continued my vagrant life until I learned about the Venatori and the Inquisition."

Elsa gave him an assessing look. She still wasn't sure why he was suddenly sharing all this, but it was a strange thing to witness. He'd get sad about things, mad at times for sure… but there was something unsettling about the tone he was relaying his history with now.

"I'm glad you did," she said carefully. "Join us, I mean. Hopefully it has provided a more solid foundation for a while."

"It has," he agreed, "and that is exactly my point. I broke from my family in every possible way, because it was the only way I knew how to make it clear I would not play along with their schemes. You, however… you left home, but you never left them. Not really. All you did was create some distance, while you hole up somewhere else."

"I've done quite a lot I wouldn't have done at home," she bristled, "I've seen a bunch of things, learned to use magic. That's —"

"You have experienced some horrible things since then," he interrupted her, "and you have done remarkably well. But you didn't leave home because of your family and you've been in another privileged position where you don't need to confront these things. You never even told them you take issue with what they expect from you, or how they treated you."

"What they did was necessary —"

"Elsa." Dorian leaned forward, his eyes drilling into hers. "Hiding you from the Chantry… perhaps. Making you believe your magic — something that is an essential part of who you are — is something to be ashamed of? To make you hate yourself for having it?" He shook his head. "That is not necessary, nor is it acceptable. Not in the least."

Elsa hugged herself a little tighter. She felt the urge to cry, to sink to the floor and curl up into a ball. More than anything she wanted to have Cullen with her, to take care of her like he had done the night before… before she had hurt him so terribly in return.

"They're my family," she said weakly. "I… can't just not see them."

Dorian considered her for a moment, then straightened himself back up. "They say you can't choose your relatives, but you do choose how to live your life and who to include in that. Your family — the people that you want to spend your life with — is very much in your control." His brow rose a tick. "Have you chosen Cullen, or not?"

"Of course I have," she said, not even doubting her answer. "I love him. We… we started talking about what might happen after we defeat Corypheus and I…" A smile spread across her face, fighting its way through her tears. "I can't wait."

"Then you stick by him," Dorian said simply. "How do you think it felt for him, being introduced to your family as the Inquisition's commander rather than what he's been to you? Worse, to keep it up for an entire evening, pretending to be nothing more than a colleague? Can you really blame him if he feels devalued?"

"I… suppose not," she muttered, the knot in her chest tightening with every word, "but… I really thought today that my mum and I —"

"Which do you think is more likely?" Dorian continued with relentless gentility. "That the Cullen we both know is so blinded by his dislike for nobility — primarily Orlesians, I might add, and who can blame him there — that he is determined to cause a rift between you and your family? Or that your mother, who has done nothing to support you in your own decisions for the past twenty years, has not suddenly changed her ways?"

She prodded at the tiles with her toe. "When you put it like that —"

"I am very much putting it like that," Dorian said smugly. He held out the bottle to her, giving it a small shake. "Go on, princess. Enjoy a bit of liquid courage before you go crawling through the keep on hands and knees to beg your blond stud for forgiveness."

She took the flask and drank down several big gulps. "You're a mean drunk," she grumbled, wiping her mouth.

"Just an honest one," Dorian chuckled. "You not wanting to hear it doesn't make it mean. It's easier to just accept it, you know — you've made a mess of things."

"I know," she sighed, "It's hard… making your own way. You're really brave."

"Brave?" He was uncharacteristically silent for a moment. "Thank you."

Elsa took another long drink. It wouldn't be easy, but she would fix it… properly this time. She'd apologise, ask for his forgiveness, and then she would hear him out. If he was willing to give her another chance… she wouldn't mess it up again. The lump in her stomach remained tight and heavy, but the alcohol helped in steeling her resolve. She would make it all better tomorrow… Up until a few days ago, she'd been rather good at that.

"What are you going to do about your dad?" she asked, passing the bottle back to him.

"Not sure I will do anything about him," he shrugged. "Some things can't be forgiven."

"Don't you want closure? You haven't told him how you feel about this, have you? You just left."

"I suppose I haven't."

"… It might make you feel better."

"It might." He thought for a moment, then pulled the letter from his pocket again. "Perhaps I can at least give this 'retainer' a piece of my mind to send back to him. Then that will be the end of it. Might be easier than writing it down."

Elsa frowned, searching her memory through the slight haze of the Qunari spirit. "Wasn't there a retainer waiting in Redcliffe at the time of that first letter?"

"I think so."

"Is it another one? Or has he just been there all this time?"

"Perhaps," Dorian laughed, "My father must have paid him a handsome sum at this point if that's the case."

Elsa chuckled along at the thought of some hireling waiting around in a country tavern for months on end. "Do you want to go?" she asked, trying to catch his eye, "It's up to you. We'll need to go to Ferelden some time soon anyway, so we could schedule it in."

"Perhaps," Dorian mused. He went silent for a while, looking up at the sky where silver clouds drifted among the stars. A smile slowly began to curl in the corner of his mouth, heralding the familiar twinkle in his eyes. "The thought of showing up to this meeting with my Qunari lover hulking in the background might just be too good to pass up."


	54. Survive

The sun slowly rose above the mountain ridge, carefully casting its gleam along the polished floor. Elsa sat on the edge of the bed, watching their chambers transform from night to day. It was something they'd only ever done together before, when neither of them could sleep. It had been a while… since she'd started practising with dreaming, she'd slept like a log until morning. It was cold in here without him, and not just because of the light losing its strength with the passing of the season. Her alcohol-induced buzz had long wore off by the time the rays crept across the room and hit the wall beside the staircase. It was getting later when they did so, slowing down the rhythm of the keep. She was silently cursing the sun for making the darkness last longer — prolonging her state of anxiety — when, finally, the door opened below. A familiar, heavy footfall soon began to make its way up the steps. She got to her feet as Cullen reached the landing, waiting nervously for him to turn towards her.

He stood still at the top of the staircase, one hand resting on the banister. He didn't appear angry, thank the Maker. Elsa fidgeted in place as his eyes, framed with dark circles, scanned her from top to bottom. She exhaled faintly when they returned to her face and a faint smile appeared on his lips.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Hey."

"You look exhausted."

"Yeah…" he said in a small chuckle. "I had a bit of a night."

"Same," she murmured, stroking her hair behind her ear. "I… really hated being here without you."

"I know. I hated it too, but… I didn't want to be here while we were angry at each other."

Elsa nodded and fell silent. She wanted to go over to him, hug him… drag him into bed with her and fall asleep together. They probably couldn't — there was too much to do today and too many things to talk about. "That was a good decision… very mature. I — I'm sorry, Cullen. The way I behaved is unpardonable."

He came towards her, rubbing his neck. "Well…" One of his hands took a gentle hold of her waist as his other lifted her chin. "I'm not sure I would go that far."

"… Not?"

"No, love." He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers with a soft sigh. "I can forgive it."

Relief turned liquid in her eyes, bubbling up uncontrollably until tears began to flow down her cheeks. She took his face in her hands and drew a shaky breath, trying to keep her composure. "Thank you," she whispered, "I am so sorry. I should have told her right away, not make you pretend and — what I said to you, while you've been absolutely perfect… I'm so sorry."

"Please don't call me perfect." His smile broadened and he gently bumped her nose with his. "Nobody is. Apparently not even you."

"Far from," she scoffed mournfully.

He took her hands and brought them down to look at her. "That's okay, you know?" he said quietly, bending down slightly to catch her eye.

"Heh…" She wiped her face with her sleeve. "That's a strange notion."

He frowned, rubbing her fingers with his thumbs. "Listen…" he said, guiding her to sit on the bed with him. "There are some things we should talk about, but before that… You should know your brother tried to break into the lyrium supply last night."

Elsa stared at him. "Maker above," she groaned, "You had to deal with that? I'm sorry, Cullen… apparently there's no end to — He… you said he 'tried'?"

"Yeah," Cullen nodded, "He didn't succeed. Barely made a real effort, I think — too drunk. He's still sleeping it off in my room."

"Your room? Where did you sleep?"

"I didn't really." He smirked and gestured to his tired face. "Hence this."

"Maker's breath," Elsa sighed, "You are just the nicest — not perfect, but… Maker's breath. If… Cullen, if you want to get out now, I totally understand."

"… Get out?"

"Yeah." A shiver pulled through her spine at the thought, but… she felt it should be said nonetheless. With how he'd been treated the past few days by all the Trevelyans in Skyhold… who could blame him? "I mean, if you don't want to have anything to do with —"

"Hold it right there." His expression grew stern, emphasised by the shadows under his eyes. "Do you want me to get out?"

"No," she said quickly, vigorously shaking her head. "I don't, I just —"

"Then don't say that. Listen, the thing I wanted to say…" He looked to the side and thought. "I want to be with you. I am not proposing or anything like that. It feels like it's too early and not the right time, but it doesn't change what I know to be true, which is that I want to be with you for as long as possible." His gaze was unwavering, rooting her to the ground. "I do not expect you to be as certain — you are young and still figuring out a lot of things. But I do want to know it's what you want for now, regardless of what your mother has to say about it."

"I do! Of course. Cullen, I —"

"Are you bothered by my past?"

"No!" Her hands shot up to his neck and she drew herself towards him in a reflex. "I'm not," she said feverishly, stroking the angles of his perfect face and running her fingers through his hair. He had to see it… _Please let him see it_. "I don't want you to go, I just said that because I would understand if you… I want to be with you. I want to do the things we started talking about. I want to see what comes after this war and I want to see it together with you. I… I want you."

"Alright…"

His next question formed more slowly, stirring in the amber of his irises. The hurt from yesterday, though tempered by the night apart, had not gone. Elsa felt the guilt clench around her lungs, constricting her breath. No matter how much she apologised… that mistake would not be so easily forgotten.

"Why then?" Cullen said eventually, "Why did you say it?"

She chewed on the inside of her lip, feeling it quiver between her teeth. Her eyes followed her hands as they trailed down to his shoulders, his chest, and withdrew to her lap. Why did she say it? Strange as it was for her, someone so controlled… instinct was the best way to describe it.

"Remember the ball? At the Winter Palace?"

"Vividly," Cullen grunted. "Why?"

"I… it might help me to explain. I did something there. Do you remember two girls? They probably sought you out at some point, definitely their mother. Shiny purple dresses, blond curls?"

Cullen thought a moment, looking up at the ceiling. He shook his head a moment later, not a trace of recognition in his eyes — apparently the pair had left no impression whatsoever.

"Really?"

"Can't say I do," he shrugged, "I couldn't see people very clearly with that mask on and I was more focused on your safety."

_Bless him._

"Alright, well… they tried to undercut me in the opening dance."

"Undercut?"

"Tried to trip me up," she explained, "Make me embarrass myself on the floor."

"Oh…" She couldn't tell whether his frown was motivated by annoyance or confusion, but he judged neither of enough importance to inquire further into the intricacies of an Orlesian dance. "Alright. What did you do?"

"I hit them first. Tripped one of them, made her walk into the other. They didn't partake in another dance for the rest of the evening."

"… I see."

"My point being, in a roundabout way… is that I got defensive. If you're under attack and usual methods fail, you hit them where it hurts and before they hurt you." She stared firmly at her hands, not daring to look at him. "I… have no better explanation than that. I do not hold your past against you, I just… lashed out because I felt attacked. I'm sorry."

One of his hands closed over both of hers, stopping her from channelling her unrest by picking at her skin. With his other he notched a finger under her chin, drawing her out of her gloom.

"Try to not let it happen again," he sighed, stroking his thumb along the line of her jaw. "I don't like being in this situation with you."

"I promise," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Alright… Get over here then."

He held out his arms. She hesitated for a moment, then flung herself into them. It wasn't more than a day since she'd last felt them wrap around her, drawing her into his warmth and protection, yet it might as well have been years. She smothered the renewed tears in his shirt and breathed in his smell, losing herself in the feeling of him and the sheer depth of her luck to find such a kind man to love her. Cullen let himself fall back onto the mattress and pulled her with him, his embrace tightening as he buried his nose in her hair. His muscles relaxed around her soon after… he really was dead tired.

"Are we okay again?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"As far as I'm concerned," he murmured, "You?"

"Yeah… I just want to have you back."

"You never lost me, love." She felt his chest rise and fall beneath her in a long, contented sigh. His hands stroked through her hair, then came to a halt on her waist. "Does it matter to you that I don't have a title outside of the Inquisition?"

She raised her head to look at him and shook it. "No. I don't care about that."

"Are you sure?"

The sincerity of his question stung like knife. "I'm sure," she said slowly, willing every fibre of her body to imprint the message on him, "Please. I'm sorry I ever made you question that. I am sure."

"Alright…" His eyes searched her face, then fixed her in place. "You need to make that clear to your mother. I can't do it for you. I do not want to cause a rift between family, but… if we are to be together and you want to have any relationship with them, it can't be like this."

"I know… I know."

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course!"

"Then… you believe what I tried to tell you yesterday?

"I do." Elsa took a deep breath and focused on calming the anxieties still swirling within. It was going to be okay. He was too good to be true, but he wasn't leaving… All she had to do now was make sure no one tried to mess it up further. "Please," she pleaded, opening her eyes. "I am sorry I didn't listen. Tell me what she told you — exactly."

o - o - o

Skyhold's doors shook in their hinges as they banged against its stone walls. One after another flew open as she strode through the hallways, her mana blasting them aside before she'd even reached for the handle. Josephine jumped in her seat when Elsa burst into her office and asked after her mother's whereabouts, then pointed her in the right direction in a small voice. Elsa stormed off, her mind spinning with her mother's deception.

_Every trick in the book._

She'd used them all — the ones that she had taught her, the ones that she had used herself. How had she not recognised it when he told her yesterday… how had she not recognised it before that? She'd been blind, confused by that tiny kernel of potential love and appreciation she'd longed for. The Inquisitor, Andraste's Herald, Liberator of the Wayward Templars, Broker of Peace in Orlais, Conqueror of Demons at Adamant, and whatever title she'd been attributed beyond that… completely undone and utterly fooled by a few words from her own mother. Her mana growled inside of her, rippling through the air and causing the plants in Skyhold's garden to close their leaves in self-defence.

_How could I be so stupid?_

"Mother!"

Esme Trevelyan was kneeling in front of Andraste's statue, surrounded by candles with her head bowed low and her hands clasped before her. She didn't look up when her daughter disturbed the tranquillity of the chapel. While she didn't flinch easily to begin with, Elsa guessed it was in no small part because she'd been expecting her to show up as well. She stood in the entrance, her breath fast and shallow as she waited for her mother to acknowledge her presence. Esme finished her prayer and stood up slowly, taking her time to cast a long look at Andraste before she turned around. Her expression was completely neutral when she looked upon her fuming daughter, her neatly groomed eyebrows rising expectantly.

"Good morning, dear. Are you feeling better?"

"What?" Elsa stared at her through her tiredness and anger, momentarily confused. "Oh — I'm _fine_, I wasn't sick. What in the Void are you playing at, saying what you did to Cullen?"

"Mind your volume, dear. There is no need to make a scene."

Elsa glanced around. "There is no one —" She caught herself and shook her head. _Don't let her distract you._ "This is my organisation, I will make a scene if I want to. Answer my question!"

Her mother pursed her lips, looking her over with a sweeping gaze. "I didn't say anything that should cause this kind of upset," she said airily. "I simply pointed out some of the realities of your involvement, realities you are both wilfully ignoring."

"You made me think you supported my decision. Then you turn around and suggest he is unworthy of me?"

"He is simply of a different standing, my dear, and he does not hold any power outside of this organisation. What will you do, when it inevitably ceases to exist?"

"I don't know, Mother!" she cried in exasperation, "But it's my right to figure that out — for us together. How dare you treat him in that way, after how good he's been to me?"

"Goodness only takes you so far, darling," Esme stated. "He is a grown man, a military leader. Surely he can handle what little observations I make of his background. If not, well —"

"He shouldn't have to handle your observations!" Elsa stared at the small, immovable figure of her mother, standing as righteously in front of Andraste's liking as if she were the prophet herself. "He shouldn't have to handle any of our petty games and squabbles. I love him, background or not. All _you_ need to do as my mother is to accept that — not pretend to accept it and then go behind my back!"

"Dear, this kind of emotional display only proves my point. All I did was provide some perspective. Undoubtedly you are both very enamoured with one another at the moment and you are clearly not thinking rationally. Believe it or not, but I remember what that feels like well enough, girl. It doesn't last."

"Perspective? We've never fought like this until —"

"My dear, if what little I said to him caused such a rift between you two, it is even more reason to reconsider —"

"_No!_"

The door to the chapel swung shut with a bang, making the candlelight flicker. The Veil continued to tremble around them, slowly pulsing with the energy resonating from Elsa's core. Esme became shrouded in the long shadows playing across her sharp features. She pushed her shoulders back a little and narrowed her gaze. "Control yourself, dear."

"I am controlling myself," Elsa argued, "This is not out of control, Mother! I am _angry_!"

"_That_ is a moot point for a mage," her mother said sharply.

"What do you know of it?" she hissed, making the candles sputter. "All that you _think_ you know comes from your own fear and ignorance."

"Elsa. Stop it."

"Why?" She laughed, letting her power flow freely and fill the air with electricity. "Is it too difficult to see what your daughter is? What you've pretended wasn't there? Are you afraid I'll burn the place down?"

Though her mother didn't budge, retaining the same straight-backed posture she'd insisted on with her children, her eyes flicked to the surging candles. Perhaps it was unbecoming of her to unnerve an older woman in this way, but Elsa didn't care.

_Let her see it._

"That's what this all comes down to, isn't it?" she continued, "It's not really about who I _marry_, it's about who I _am_."

Esme straightened herself up, lifting her chin in defiance as she did to men who didn't take her seriously and women who tried to undermine her… they'd all caved before her eventually. Elsa had never drawn such a response — she'd never put up enough of a fight to warrant one. Emboldened in recognition of the gesture she pressed on, feeling her mana roar in her support.

"You hate me," she spat. "For what happened to Maia. If she'd been alive, you could have just put me in a Circle and still have the perfect daughter you could marry off. You hate me for what happened to her and you can't look at me without —"

The tension in the air ignited with a _bang_. Elsa forcefully yanked her mana back into submission, throwing up her arms against the blinding flash. _Oh no. Oh no, no, no…_ Her breath became panicked as she looked through her fingers, squinting against the light… What had she done? She hadn't cast, she hadn't formed an intent, she…

The candelabra cast long shadows against the walls, dancing black bars that carved into the stone. Her mother stood tall before the Maker's bride, flames coiling in a swirling ball suspended above her outstretched palm. The face above it, alight in the glow… was furious.

"Hate you?"

"Mother…" Elsa whispered, lowering her hands. "You —"

"_Hate_ you?" Esme repeated. She stared her down, the fire burning in her eyes. "I do not hate you, Elsa! You are my daughter, I _love_ you! You cannot understand how much I love you, not until you have a child of your own one day."

Elsa could only stare at her in disbelief, until her eyes started to water from looking into the searing light. Her mouth opened and closed, but sound would not follow. There were too many questions to ask, but she couldn't formulate a single one. It didn't make sense… it simply did not.

"You think I would hate you because of your sister?" her mother continued, the flames spitting sparks with every word, "That was an accident — one that cost me _both_ my daughters! Every morning since then, I wake up sick with worry — wondering if you are okay, whether today will be the day they take you away from me!"

"You're a mage," was all Elsa could manage, shaking her head. "How…"

Her mother relaxed her shoulders and lowered her hand. With a deep inhale she closed her fist, casting the chapel back into the flickering semi-darkness of the candlelight. "Of course I am, dear," she said coolly, "How else could I teach you?"

"But," Elsa sputtered, "but you didn't teach me to use it! You… you made me think it was shameful to be a mage. That it was… wrong! You made me afraid for myself!"

"You should be!" her mother said sharply. "The damage we can do — even with the best intentions! What good would have come from you learning how to use it? You had no need for it in the life we planned for you. Every time you use your power, you put yourself and others in danger."

"But I _don't_, Mother!" Elsa argued, "I've learned healing, protective spells — I am helping!"

"And how many young mages do not make it to where you are? Fail their Harrowing or are tempted into blood magic? Even the ones that didn't, where are they now?" Her eyebrows jerked upwards, soliciting an answer… but Elsa stayed silent. "I kept you safe," Esme declared, "Away from all that, so you could have a normal life and you wouldn't end up where they did. All you needed to learn was discipline!"

Elsa turned away, taking a steadying breath as she walked several paces up and down the aisle. All those hours, all those days, and all those nights… she'd never told her. She'd hidden it as well as she had taught her how to hide it. Who had taught her? Did Father know? Did her brothers? Where had this belief come from… her grandparents? The questions swirled in her mind, coming and going as quickly as the hollow sound of her steps died against the stone. Eventually she halted. There was only one thing of real importance right now… and it was the reason why she'd come down here to begin with.

"I want more, Mother," she said, turning back to face her. "I don't want to hide what I am. I want to keep learning and to get better. I don't just want to live somewhere and be comfortable, playing pretend at a life that is no longer mine. I… I want to be happy."

"Happy?" Her mother let out a scathing laugh. "_Happiness_ is not for our kind of people, Elsa. The best we can do is to survive — _that_ is what I taught you!"

"It doesn't need to be like that!" Elsa walked towards her, her resolve burning in her chest. "Listen, Mother, please! You've seen the resources we have. I have influence now, armies at my disposal… we will win this war and once we do, we _will_ change things. I promise you!"

Her mother let out a long sigh, assessing her daughter with tears forming in her eyes. She planted her hands in her sides and let her ashen head hang low. While her hair had always been that colour, it had never made her look old… not until now. Elsa watched her energy drain as she stood there, her body relaxing slightly from the rigid form it usually upheld. Esme looked to the side, then turned to the statue behind her.

She'd always been a devout Andrastian, but Elsa didn't know whether she believed that her daughter was her Herald. Since her mother's arrival, she had done nothing to either support or debunk those stories. After all that had happened, she wasn't sure what her own relation to the Faith was supposed to be. What good would it do to drag more people into that confusion?

Now she wished they'd discussed it. Did her mother believe as Cassandra did, whose convictions had not even wavered since Adamant? If so, could Elsa pass off her decisions as being the Maker's will? Would that be better… or would that simply be a convenient way to avoid the issue of gaining her acceptance?

Esme turned back around. To Elsa's surprise she was smiling, though it wasn't of pleasure. It sent a chill down her spine… she'd never seen this expression in her. It reminded her of Dorian's tone the night before, but she didn't have much better luck placing it today. It made her sad and regretful, yet she couldn't identify what she should be mourning… as if she sang a melancholic song for a time that never existed.

"Don't delude yourself, child," Esme sighed with a wistful shake of her head. "Your goal is to change things? Do you think anyone in power wants to see that happen? From a mage, of all people? You'll kill yourself swimming against the tide."

Elsa wrangled down the phantom mass forming in her chest. She could no longer distinguish the emotions that created it — anger, sorrow, remorse, disappointment… She breathed deeply when her mother did, giving them both a moment to compose themselves.

"Perhaps," Elsa conceded, looking back up, "but at least I have a chance. I have seen things I wish I could forget, Mother, but I have been given a gift in return. I… I'd rather die trying to reverse the tide, than shrivel up on the shore because I never stepped into the water."

Her mother let her shoulders hang and looked to the ground. Suddenly she appeared small… not at all like the tenacious woman she'd looked up to and tried to emulate all her life. She, who would command any room she entered with effortless grace. She, who wouldn't flinch in the face of anyone who dared to get in her way. She, who — in her own, however misguided way — protected her children with a fierce ferocity, like a lioness guarding her cubs.

Elsa closed the final distance between them and held out her hand to where she could see it. Her mother drew another long breath before she reached for it. Her fingers interlaced with her own — Elsa's young and slightly tan from travelling, hers delicate and nearly translucent, like aged parchment.

"Well, my dear," Esme said quietly, raising her head, "I wanted you to survive — so I am glad you stood up to me. Now I know that, when they do come for you, you will have the strength to persevere."

"I do, Mother," Elsa assured her, "Modest in temper, bold in deed… We don't back down, remember?"

A hint of mischief played around the corner of her mother's mouth. "You are as much my blood as you are your father's, dear. May our words guide you on your path forward as well. I think you will find them as beneficial, if not more so."

Elsa thought a moment to remember the motto of her mother's clan, a middle-class merchant family from Antiva City… it had not been imprinted on her in the way the Trevelyan's had been. "Strike before the fire is lit," she recalled, watching her mother's face light up in return.

"Indeed." She rested her hand on Elsa's cheek. "My beautiful daughter… I certainly hope you will succeed."

Her almond eyes, brown with streaks of grey, looked straight into hers and, for the first time, Elsa felt like they truly saw her.


	55. Reconcile

**Mildly NSFW**

* * *

The mushrooms glowed dimly in the half-shade, tinting the damp earth a shimmering blue. Although the mountains were not the ideal location for them to grow, the shelter of Skyhold's walled garden and the heat drifting up from the barracks below made that the current crop was doing well enough. Soon it would be time to harvest, just after the first frost settled in, before the ground would turn too dry and end up destroying them.

Elsa sat on her hands and knees, pulling out the shoots of elfroot that had spread beyond their own bedding. The rain drummed on her hood, accompanying her for as long as she worked. She pushed the garment back as the heavy drops turned to a light drizzle. Sitting back on her heels, she stretched her arms overhead and eyed the fruits of her morning's labour. A satisfied smile appeared on her face at the view of the neatly organised planters, which would provide a large enough yield to last them through the winter. One less thing to worry about.

A silent presence appeared beside her. Elsa looked up, expecting a runner with some message or another, or one of her companions. Instead it was a young boy with dark hair and wearing fine clothes. He stood a few paces away — his eyes somewhat blank, yet friendly — and observed her with an open curiosity.

"Hello?" she said. "Can I help you?"

"You're the Inquisitor."

"I am… Who are you?"

"My name is Kieran. Mother didn't say you were a mage."

Elsa blinked. Though she was a lot more open about it these days, she hardly flaunted her ability… not since a few weeks ago at least. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Oh no. It would be much worse if you didn't have magic… like being blind."

"That's… one way to put it. How can you tell I am one?"

"I can see it," Kieran said casually. "It's in your blood. It glows, like lyrium."

"You know about lyrium?"

"I do." He grimaced. "It gives me terrible headaches."

She huffed a laugh, wondering where this kid had come from. His directness reminded her of Cole, though he was a lot easier to understand than the spirit. The mystery didn't last long, for an explanation soon arrived with the appearance of Morrigan, who quickly sent the boy back to his studies. "My son," the mage then said with a mild chuckle, "Never where you expect him to be, naturally."

Elsa got to her feet and unsuccessfully brushed the dirt from her skirt — she'd have to change before her meetings in the afternoon. "He's lovely," she told her, pushing back the wet strands of hair that had fallen from her braid.

"But not the sort one might expect a woman like me to raise?"

Elsa raised her eyebrows, wondering where such a comment might have come from. Perhaps the mage had spent a little too long in the imperial court. "I have no idea what kind of woman you are yet," Elsa answered. "But since you raised him, the best approximation of your character is what can be seen in him."

"How very diplomatic you continue to be," Morrigan said with a mischievous smile.

"Why should I not expect him to be raised by you?"

"Ah, have your advisers still not informed you?" Her eyes twinkled. Rather than being offended by it, the mage seemed to enjoy the supposed obscurity around her existence. "I am the Witch of the Wilds, mysteriously appearing and disappearing when strange events happen. Hardly the material mothers are made of."

"Sounds exciting," Elsa laughed, "I'll admit it sounds like a lot to keep up such an image and raise a child at the same time, but you seem to have found a way that works."

"That I did, though 't was not easy." Morrigan looked away in the direction her son had gone off. "I have gone to great lengths not to let my reputation affect him. No son of mine will be raised in a marsh, bereft of contact with the outside world."

"Is that how you were raised?"

She nodded. Though her expression was neutral, it didn't seem like she had quite come to terms with this aspect of her mysterious past. Elsa decided not to press it further and Morrigan herself soon changed the topic to Skyhold instead. She bade her farewell not long after, with the promise she'd be looking into Leliana's latest information on Corypheus.

Elsa watched her walk away towards the keep, where Kieran made a sudden reappearance. He jumped out from behind a pillar, hands flailing in the air and making a silly face to scare his mother. She didn't startle, nor did she seem angry the boy hadn't yet returned to his studies like she'd told him to. Instead she held out her arm, smiling warmly. He rushed under it to hug her and they began to talk in quiet voices, while he looked up at her with unbridled adoration.

Familiar hands slid around Elsa's waist and gently pulled her backwards, until her back met hardened steel and soft hairs tickled her neck. She let her head drop back into the fur and felt him press a kiss on her temple.

"Hello again," Cullen murmured into her ear.

"What a nice surprise. I didn't hear you approach."

"You seemed preoccupied." His arms founds their usual resting place, laying firmly around her middle, and he leaned his head against hers. "Miss me?"

"It's been hours," she sighed, "of absolute agony."

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against her skin. "What are you up to?"

"Getting back to my farmer's roots." She nodded at the mushrooms. "I was going to go up and change next."

"… Are you taking a bath?"

"It is tempting with this weather, isn't it?" The rain had paused for a moment, but the sky overhead remained a solid grey… any room in the castle without a fire would be humid and chilly today. "Maybe a quick one… I have fundraising to do later." She gave him a sideways look. "Do you have time?"

"I can make some," he said, his lips grazing hers as he spoke. "I don't have training until after lunch." He kissed her, tightening his grip. She pushed her hips into him and arched her back, daring him to intensify their embrace, but he didn't take the bait. Instead he pulled away. "Patience, you temptress."

She laughed along with him and snuggled deeper into his arms. He hugged her close, letting his chin rest on her shoulder. For a while they were silent and watched Morrigan and her son, who were now talking and gesturing towards Skyhold's walls. Perhaps she was telling him of the fortress' origins. Bones built upon bones, magic that had seeped into the stone… How she knew of Skyhold's history, Elsa wasn't sure, but instinctively she knew that the witch wasn't wrong. If the boy could identify a mage from a single look, however, Elsa imagined that he was probably aware of the keep's history without instruction. Though she wondered at the odd look in his eyes, he looked like a bright, well-adjusted lad… one who clearly adored his mother.

"What do you make of her?" Cullen asked, nodding towards the pair.

"She seems alright," Elsa mused, "though she does like to revel in her own mystery."

"Should we try to find out more about her?"

"No… I don't doubt her intentions in helping us. Besides, Leliana travelled with her for a year and both are close with the Warden. I doubt we're going to find out anything more about her than what we already know. Do you remember her?"

"Not really… If I'm honest, I barely remembered Leliana when I saw her again. I only met them briefly and I wasn't in the best state of mind at the time."

"Of course," Elsa said quietly, lacing her fingers in his. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"No worries."

He gave her a quick kiss on her crown, then let go of her. The rain was picking up once again, ticking sharply on the stepping stone path. Cullen took her hand and walked to the far end of the courtyard near the chapel, where the circular walkway with vaulted ceilings provided them with cover. He leaned his shoulder against one of the columns, crossing one leg over the other and his hand resting on his sword. Elsa watched small drops of rain glisten as they rolled to the ends of his hair while he looked up at the sky, a content smile lingering in the corner of his mouth.

"What are you thinking of?" she asked, feeling herself smile at the sight of him as well.

"Ah… This weather reminds me of Ferelden."

Elsa eyed the increasing downpour. "… In a good way?"

"Yes," he laughed, "It was busy in the house on rainy days. My siblings could be very loud… but it was cosy too. Plus, it'd feel all the more like an adventure when we did go outside on days like that." He look back up at the sky, his eyes faraway as he recalled the memories. "For years I didn't want to have anything to do with the place," he continued softly, "What happened in the Circle tainted everything by association. By the time I joined the Inquisition, I still wasn't keen on going back."

"Has that changed?"

"I don't know… I think so. It feels like I should visit my family at some point for one, though Mia might kill me on sight when I finally do. But in general… I suppose I just don't dislike the idea of it as much anymore as I once did."

"Perhaps enough time has passed… I'm not particularly keen on going back to the Marches yet."

"Maybe in a decade," Cullen joked, "It may be the universal time to regain an appreciation for your homeland after turning your back on it."

"Perhaps," Elsa laughed, "Though I imagine my mother's reproachful letters will be worse than your sister's if I don't show my face before then."

"I don't doubt it…" Cullen said, shaking his head, "Before she left she told me to hurry up the war so we can come over and visit."

"That easy, huh?"

"Indeed. Then she called me handsome again."

"She's probably jealous I got to you first," Elsa winked, "Just be happy she refrained from pinching your cheek."

He rolled his eyes. "Is this what it's like to be you, people predominantly appreciating your appearance?"

"Until I got here? Pretty much."

He huffed a laugh through his nose. "Remind me we'll never live near the Orlesian court… and give any other noble houses a wide berth, just to be sure."

"I highly doubt you need to be reminded of that."

"True," he admitted, "… Do you mind?"

"Nah… I can do without."

He nodded in gratitude, the corner of his mouth still pulled up in a smirk. Elsa let out a soft breath… though they'd returned to normal rather quickly after their fight, she was still relieved that they could joke like this again. Cullen seemed to think similar, for his armour rose and fell slowly in a deep sigh, his expression relaxing to a contented smile.

"Did you hear something yet?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Only a note from Bull that they reached the harbour." The Qunari and his Chargers had graciously accepted the task of seeing her mother safely back to Ostwick. "I imagine she'll write when she's home."

He rested his head against the stone. "Will you keep in touch with her yourself from now on?"

Elsa folded her hands behind her and leaned with her back against the neighbouring pillar. The rain intensified further, becoming a curtain beside them that obfuscated the courtyard. On the opposite side, Morrigan and her son had taken refuge in the walkway as well. Though their shapes were blurred by the pelting rain, Elsa could see the boy was once again nestled under the mage's arm while they looked up at the storm, where a flash of lightning cut through the heavy clouds.

"I will," she said after a while, "I'm not sure what to think yet. In her way she tried to do right by me, but some of her decisions and how they've treated me… Even if everyone wants to move past it, I don't know if I trust myself not to fall back into those patterns. You know what I mean?"

Cullen's brow wrinkled with concern. "There's no need to rush anything," he suggested, "Take your time to figure out what sort of relationship you want to have moving forward… on your own terms."

"Yeah. Thank you… again. You've just been —" He raised his eyebrows, warning her to pick her next words with care. "… Absolutely terrible," she said seriously. "Like, really bad. But you know… not the worst, about this whole thing."

"You're welcome," he chuckled. He looked her over, his smile broadening slowly, warming her heart. "I'm proud of you, you know?"

She felt herself blush, which only made him smile more. "I know…" she said quietly, "Thanks."

The rain continued to rumble beside them, splashing on the plants and soaking the ground. It should give the mushrooms another good boost, though Elsa wondered if they shouldn't protect the rest of the crop from the torrent should it continue much longer. She'd been surprised how well the plants did at all in this climate… perhaps Skyhold's lingering magic had something to do with that. Yet she couldn't imagine its protections would be successful in safeguarding the more delicate plants from this assault. The castle might've been the place where the sky was kept for the ancient elves… today the sky was falling down upon it. Undoubtedly their guards had long abandoned their posts, taking shelter in the towers instead, and everyone else was huddled around the fireplaces. She wondered what training Cullen had planned for the afternoon, and whether he would insist on continuing it in this weather… she'd seen him put his men through crazier exercises.

"How is Nic doing?" she asked him.

His scar twitched and a devious smile appeared on his face. It heralded a certain kind of boyish audacity, one she didn't see often among his usually gentle or serious demeanour. It surfaced when he had discussions with Rylen or played cards with Varric, as well as during particularly engaging sparring sessions, or sometime… in the privacy of their chambers.

"He's alright," Cullen grinned, "Got just one more week of latrine duty ahead of him."

"You are enjoying this," Elsa chided him, though she couldn't help but smile.

"I am," he nodded, his tone completely unapologetic, "To his credit, though… he is sticking with it."

"How's his health?"

"Bit shaky," Cullen murmured, looking up as the thunder came rolling in. "Hasn't caused any trouble though. We've got a good group of trainees right now — they look up to him because of his previous combat training, but he relies on them in turn to stay away from the tavern. It works well for the moment."

It had been Cullen's idea, some days after the altercation with her mother, to offer Nic the option of joining the Inquisition. Their army, not the templars — no need to relinquish a title or lands, and no lyrium to be taken. Perhaps he'd taken pity on him, perhaps he'd seen an able swordsman he didn't want to let go to waste… He hadn't been completely sure of his motivations either when she asked him, except that he thought it might help. Elsa had let him handle it, staying out of it as much as possible. While she'd wanted Nic to have a chance for years, she didn't feel keen on inserting herself in the process. She had tried and failed often enough to know her involvement would not be effective, but perhaps Cullen could succeed where she had not. Nic had pledged his sword to him soon after, even in the face of Esme's initial objections and Cullen's stern assurance that he would start at the bottom, under the condition that use of alcohol or lyrium would not be tolerated.

"Thanks for giving him a shot," Elsa said again, for what she imagined was the tenth time at least since it had been decided. "If he can make this work… it would make a big difference."

"Well, he's definitely trying. It's up to him to keep working at it… Do you know when you're heading out yet?"

"Probably soon," she sighed. Though she didn't dislike the prospect of travelling so much, she did not look forward to leaving him again. "We might have to go slow in this weather. If Bull is on his way to Ostwick now, we should head out in a couple of days to meet him at the Storm Coast when he returns. Should work out well with their tip on these smugglers."

"An alliance with the Qunari, huh?" Cullen crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated the idea. "I'm still unsure about that, you know? The invasion… they have a very different mindset."

"I'm sceptical too… we will see. I won't be bullied into an agreement that doesn't make sense for us."

"I know," he smiled, "I'm not worried."

"Good. You shouldn't be."

"Redcliffe afterwards?"

"Just a stop on the way south," Elsa confirmed, "Dorian seems to think it won't take more than five minutes, but I doubt it. Then on to the Hinterlands to meet Varric."

"Seems like his friend had a good lead," Cullen mused, "It could be another decisive win for us."

"Definitely…"

"Are you concerned?"

"Just a little suspicious, I suppose. I haven't seen much of Varric lately, but when he briefed me on the matter… It's probably nothing, but… I don't know. He seemed nervous."

"Maybe something to do with her being married?" Cullen suggested, "He seemed eager not to discuss it too much."

"Perhaps…"

Varric had been largely absent ever since Bianca's arrival. The short moment she'd met with her, Elsa had wondered at the snappy back and forth between the two… even without the glaring presence of his crossbow, it was clear there was a history there. Yet the one time she'd managed to ask him about it, he'd been as cagey as he was about the reason for naming his weapon. Elsa became occupied herself with the appearance of her family not long after, and for a while the mystery had been banished from her thoughts. The last she'd heard through hallway gossip was that, despite her marital status, Bianca had made little use of the guest room she'd been provided with while she stayed with them… Now the two dwarves had gone ahead, riding down with one of Cullen's squads going for a supply run in the Hinterlands, until Elsa could join them there. With some luck they'd be able to enter the Deep Roads and cut off Corypheus' access to lyrium… but the whole thing had her on edge for reasons she couldn't quite place.

"Sounds like you'll be away for a couple of weeks then?" Cullen inquired.

"At a minimum."

"… I see." Cullen checked around for other people, but even the pair across the clouded courtyard had disappeared into the castle. He came towards her, placed his hands on her waist, and leaned in. Her heartbeat quickened as he nuzzled her crown, breathing in her smell. His voice had gone low and husky when he bent towards her ear and whispered, "Then I suppose I shouldn't resist when you want to make the most of our time… should I?"

The fire stirred inside her the moment his lips touched hers. Once they would get upstairs, it was clear that a bath was no longer all that he had in mind. His hands stroked to her backside and pulled her firmly against his hips, while his chest pressed her into the pillar. She felt the urge to pull herself up by his cloak and wrap her legs around him, so that he might make love to her right there and then up against the stone.

Before the thought became too irresistible, however, another wormed its way into her mind… Undoubtedly they would be spending a disproportionate amount of time like this before she had to leave. Though it would be fun enough, she wished it wasn't motivated by the knowledge she'd have to go without him again for weeks after. In fact, the more he was drawn into her, with one hand sliding down to lift her skirt and his breath growing heavier, the less she wanted to continue… not if it all had to end again in a few days time.

"Hey." He'd released her mouth and moved down to her neck instead. She patted his shoulders with both hands, trying to draw his attention back to her rather than the earlobe he'd started nibbling on. "Hey — Maker, Cullen… Hold for a second."

He paused, looking up at her with one hand lodged between her legs as she'd closed her thighs. "Not what you wanted?"

"It is, but — Listen… I don't want to go."

"… Okay?" He tugged his hand free, letting her skirt fall down to a more chaste state. "Do you want to send someone else?"

"No, I can't really do that — I think Dorian could use the support, no matter what he says, and the Qunari would probably be offended if I send a delegate to negotiate. I meant more, I don't want to go without you."

His brow quirked up. "That's nice of you… but I'm not sure —"

"There's not a whole lot to do while we wait for news on Corypheus, is there? Could Barris supervise things for you? We could be efficient about it, be back as soon as possible."

"He'd probably be able to," Cullen murmured. "Perhaps if we combine it with some other lingering business in Ferelden… I'd need to check with Cassandra."

"… Could you? If you want to, that is."

He smiled and put his arms around her again. "I do… and I will."

She wrapped herself around his neck and rested her cheek against his shoulder. They watched the rain fall, its heavy rhythm taking her back to her trip to Crestwood. Ideally they'd have better weather conditions this time around. Yet even if they didn't, the thought of travelling through his homeland together was exciting. She didn't count the trip to Therinfal — she'd barely even registered his presence at the time. Even the small moment they'd shared in the woods had been overshadowed by everything else that had been going on. But especially now that the area was largely stable and he seemed to be warming to the country again himself, she looked forward to seeing it through his eyes. Hawke hadn't borne the place much love, save for its offer of alcoholic beverages. Though she didn't speak much of her past, when she did have something to say it was usually of her time in Kirkwall and the people she'd met there. Even despite the bad things that had happened, she seemed to consider it more like home than she did Ferelden. Cullen, on the other hand, rarely spoke a good word of the City of Chains. With his family still in the south, perhaps more love for his country had remained than he'd cared to admit until now.

"Say," he said after a while, "if we go… could we afford a small detour?"

She lifted her head. "I can arrange it. Can you?"

"If I'm out already anyway it shouldn't hinge on a couple of days," he shrugged, "I'd like to take you somewhere."

"Where?"

His scar twitched. "I'm not telling you."

"What?" Elsa stared at him, then lightly pummelled his chest with her fists. "Come on… tell me!"

He shook his head.

"Tell me, tell me, tell —"

"What are you, three years old?" he laughed, taking her by the wrists to stop her playful assault. "It's nothing special, I assure you… I would just like to go there rather than tell you about it. Alright?"

"M'alright," she pouted, "but you better make sure you can go now."

"I'll make it happen," he promised, "You have my word."


	56. Family

A thin layer of frost lay over Skyhold's battlements on the morning of their departure. Cullen had gone down well ahead of the dawn to finish his final tasks, before he would turn over command to Barris for the next few weeks. Though he'd repeatedly assured her it was fine, he'd been nervous about it throughout nonetheless.

Dorian emerged from the guest wing, stretching his arms overhead, and met Elsa in the courtyard. While she had taken the time to prepare her horse herself, he was perfectly content having one of the stable boys bring his over to him instead. He petted the grey stallion on the nose, then grumbled an affectionate curse in Tevene as it mussed up his hair.

He gracefully mounted the steed, his eye falling on the other horse tied to the post. "Cullen taking that one?" he asked, nodding to the black mare.

"Yes… It's a good horse. Faster than his destrier."

"Of course," Dorian murmured, "It is…. it's weird. Isn't it?" He scratched his ear. "Going without her?"

"Yeah… It is."

Hawke's horse impatiently pawed at the ground and shook her head, making her bridle jingle. Though the mage was on Elsa's mind each night, she wasn't often mentioned during the day. She'd felt guilty about it… at times it was as if the Champion had already been forgotten or had never even joined them to begin with. The actual reason, however, was rather the opposite. Whenever she did surface in conversation, it became clear that the sting of her loss had not lessened one bit. Over the course of this trip, her absence would undoubtedly be felt all the more severely.

"How are you?" Elsa asked Dorian in an attempt to distract them. "Ready to see Bull again?"

He folded his arms and leaned on the neck of his horse, holding the reins loosely in one hand. "Sure… Let's see what this thing is about."

"You don't sound very sure of it."

He pulled up his nose. "I'm not, though you might not want to ask my advice on it. Bull changed my mind about one Qunari — he didn't change it on the Qun."

"Cullen is sceptical too," Elsa sighed, placing her foot in the stirrup and climbing into the saddle. The palomino mare shuffled under her, but quieted as soon as she put a hand on her neck. "I doubt Varric would be any more confident, if he was around."

"Or Hawke."

"… Or Hawke. I suppose they're not trying to convert us though. It's just an alliance."

"And how will that work? Naval forces? Corypheus hasn't taken to sailing so far. If they want to contribute, it would mean bringing forces south. Apparently we're supposed to ignore that a bunch of stranded Qunari in Kirkwall led to an attempted invasion. Somehow I don't see any forces they would send simply heading back home peacefully after this war ends."

"I know, Dorian," Elsa conceded, "but let's just keep an open mind for now. It could also mean a first step towards a more congenial relationship with them."

"Sure… Just be careful you don't let them see your Tevinter colleague."

"Like I could ever hide you," Elsa joked, trying to lighten the mood. "It's… not just the alliance you're worried about though, is it? Is it you and Bull?"

"… I don't know." Dorian stared hard into his horse's mane, his eyes darkening a shade. "He was nervous before he left… it's out of character for him. He wasn't eager for them to come over here. I suppose I didn't mind him being far away from all that either. I'm not sure what he will do when it is no longer the case."

"He'll still be him," Elsa assured him, "He won't suddenly change."

"My dear, you saw what happened to you when your mother showed up," Dorian reminded her, "It is not so hard to imagine Bull will not be himself when a lifetime of doctrine comes knocking on his door."

"Well… you guys were there to set me straight," Elsa said defiantly. "We'll just need to be there for him. Have some faith."

He huffed a little dismissively, but gave her a sideways smile. "You guys seem back to being yourselves again. Are you happy he's coming with?"

Though she'd felt a little bad about causing him extra work, it hadn't been completely unwarranted for Cullen to accompany them. Outside of her selfish reasons, the more she considered the potential alliance with the Qunari, the happier she was to have her military adviser along for the mission. "Yeah, I am. I've been thinking though — we'll need to talk strategy at some point, in case there's fighting. We… need to compensate for Hawke's absence."

"We'll figure it out," Dorian nodded, "As long as you don't…"

Elsa waited for him to continue, but he made no effort to finish the broken sentence. Instead his attention was drawn to a point somewhere above them and a mischievous smirk appeared on his face. "What?" she inquired.

"I was going to say, as long as you don't let yourself get distracted," he laughed, "Seems like that is going to be a tall order."

"… What?" She followed his gaze to the upper level of the courtyard. "What are you —"

Barris stood at the top of the stairs, checking a list with the commander standing opposite him. Cullen wasn't wearing his regular equipment… instead he donned a lighter set with chainmail enforced padding. All was constructed from dark leather, nearly black in the morning sun but shimmering with a copper sheen. While his armour usually hid most of his shapes under a bulk of metal and fur, this one outlined his broad shoulders and cinched his waist, fully emphasising his muscular frame.

He finished with Barris and came towards them, pulling on his gloves as he sauntered down the steps. His sword swung lightly by his side and a set of daggers flashed in his belt. He looked up when he reached them, his golden hair glowing in contrast to the dark outfit. The scar on his lip, standing out against his bronzed skin, only added to his roguish appearance.

He looked between them, openness making way for confusion as he toke note of their expressions. The illusion shattered when he sighed and shifted his weight, his hand reaching up to his neck. "Alright, get it out of your system," he grunted.

"You will be riding in front, Commander," the mage informed him, "You'll make for an appealing metaphorical carrot on our stick."

"You're incorrigible." Cullen untied the black mare from the post and swung himself into the saddle. "Ready?" he asked Elsa, picking up the reins.

"Lead the way." He raised his brow at her subdued tone. "I'm with him," she explained, pointing at Dorian. "I'll need a moment to process… this."

"Try to keep up," he smirked, "and don't hurt yourselves on the way down."

He turned the horse in the direction of the gate and spurred her on, giving her room to dash into a gallop. Dorian followed suit, laughing brightly, and Elsa chased after them, feeling more secure than she ever had before in leaving the castle behind.

o - o - o

The sea crashed unto the rocky shore, as tumultuous as the churning sky above. They'd reached the Storm Coast faster than they'd planned, taking less than a fortnight of uneventful travel, yet Bull and his Chargers were already there. The Qunari raised his hand at their approach, his hulking shape resisting the heavy winds whipping around their heads.

"Hey, boss!"

He was standing at a small campsite, located at the top of the cliffs overlooking the coast. To the west, a large cave entrance opened up to the water, a gaping maw with teeth of razor sharp rocks. Faint red shimmers peeked out through the fog, moving back and forth between the cavern and the shore.

"Good to see you again, Bull," Elsa greeted, dismounting her horse. "You've survived my mother then?"

"She's a piece of work," Bull said with a rumbling chuckle, "Pretty funny when she's got a few drinks in her though. Plays a mean hand of cards too."

Elsa moved away, taking Cullen with her, as Bull turned towards Dorian. The mage had retained a few paces of distance, reluctant to get closer. Bull looked him over, then took a single stride in his direction. He reached for him, slowly letting the backs of his fingers stroke along the side of his face in greeting. Dorian cast down his eyes, but then grabbed on to it. Only a fraction of Bull's massive hand fit inside of his, but he squeezed it tightly, seemingly unwilling to let go any time soon.

"I'm happy to see you, Kadan."

"Well," Dorian huffed, "not happy enough to take a bath before apparently."

Bull smiled, but retreated when footsteps sounded from their left. An elf, armed to the teeth, came walking up the rocky path leading up from the beach. He gave them a measuring look as he approached, then settled on the Qunari. Elsa felt Cullen step a little closer to her, while Dorian's posture stiffened in an instant. Elsa could feel his tension rise further when the elf — nicknamed Gatt — called the Qunari by his Ben-Hassrath title rather than his name. Bull, however, spread his arms wide in a jovial greeting. Yet happy as he was to see his old friend, even his demeanour began to shift when the elf explained their purpose in coming here.

"We'll need to eliminate the Venatori mages on land, so that the dreadnought can take out the smuggler ship?" Elsa repeated, eyeing the activity in the fog below.

Bull surveyed the scene mistrustfully, then admitted not liking the idea of covering a dreadnought run at all. "Too much crap that can go wrong."

"Wonderful," Dorian mumbled.

"Why did the Qunari insist on attacking with such a small team?" Cullen inquired, annoyance rising in his voice. His hand lay firmly on the pommel of his sword. "We've got plenty of people stationed within a day's travel from here. We wouldn't have had to worry about properly covering your dreadnought if we'd had a bigger force or hit them earlier."

"Because then the Venatori would have seen you coming and run," Gatt replied. "They'd schedule a new shipment for later and our spies might not know where or when."

"I think your spies have underestimated how efficient ours can be," Cullen contended.

"Let's just get through this," Elsa intervened, "but I want no unnecessary risks." She looked to Bull. "Alright?"

He nodded. "I'll brief the Chargers."

Elsa pulled back when the Qunari walked off to instruct his men, taking Dorian and Cullen with her. "What do you think?" she asked them.

"I don't like it," Cullen said bluntly, "There is no reason we had to hit them like this. Even if they want an alliance, they clearly don't trust us."

"They might consider the outcome a win for them either way," Dorian piled on, "Either we succeed and they get an alliance, or the Inquisitor is eliminated in a tragic accident, leaving the south even more unstable than it already is."

"Surely they want to see Corypheus defeated," Elsa argued.

"Or he's just another _Vint_ to them that they'll deal with when it becomes their problem," Dorian shrugged.

"Alright… alright. Let's not speculate for the moment, but think of a way to make this work and not get killed by a bunch of Venatori mages. I can interrupt their casting with the new spells I've worked on with Solas. Cullen, if you can focus on —"

Cullen wasn't looking at her, but to the scene below. His jaw was tense and his eyes flicked back and forth across the shoreline. He didn't respond when she said his name again. It was only on the third attempt that he looked up, startled, then apologised for being distracted.

"What's going on?" Dorian asked him.

"I just…" He glanced back down. "We could have brought a detachment of templars if we'd had more information. A group of mages…"

Elsa frowned in confusion and shook her head at his sudden discomfort. "But you — Oh…" His eyes shifted to hers, then away again, uncomfortable in looking at her for long. "I see."

"You… don't have your skills anymore," Dorian stated quietly, realising the issue at the same time as she did.

"They've been getting less over time," Cullen admitted reluctantly, "but I noticed at Adamant… they're gone."

Elsa quickly let the ramifications run through her head, picturing the possible ways the upcoming encounter could unfold. "Dorian," she said, turning to the mage, "Chaos is the way to go, I think. Keep them as confused as you can, while we let Bull do what he does best. I'll focus on defences." She raised her chin and placed her hand on Cullen's arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry," she added, forcing him to look at her, "Just draw their fire away from us. We've got you covered."

He took a deep breath and briefly closed his hand over hers. "Alright," he agreed, "I've got you too."

"Good…" She pulled back the hair tossed into her face by the gale and secured it in a messy ponytail. "Then let's go get Bull. I want to get out of here as soon as possible."

o - o - o

The battle did not last long. Cullen dashed ahead with the Qunari, smashing into the enemy forces before they had a chance to collect themselves. Elsa kept her gaze locked on the warriors, watchful for the slightest variation in her barriers or anything that could work to disrupt them. Her arrows struck down one of the mages looking to interrupt her protections, while another was impeded when he grasped at his hair in agony, his eyes bulging from his face in fear. Elsa glanced to Dorian standing beside her, whose face was twisted with concentration as he focused his own efforts on protecting both their counterparts.

A warrior came charging in from the side, attempting to draw Cullen's attention away from the others besieging him. The commander turned to intercept him, catching the blow in his shield. One of the mages readied a spell, fire swirling between his hands as he powered up the charge. Elsa saw Cullen raise his free arm in a reflex, instinctively attempting to summon the powers he no longer possessed. She overcharged his barrier in a flash, letting the energy surge to a crescendo and explode with a bang. The warrior was thrown to the side, while the mage stumbled back. Cullen advanced in a few quick strides, cut down the caster, then swerved back to vanquish the warrior scrambling to his feet. His head turned in her direction for a moment and gave a quick nod in gratitude, before he refocused on the battle before him.

Half an hour later, they stood atop the cliff — bruised but alive. For a moment all seemed to progress smoothly, despite their expectations, and Elsa breathed a sigh of relief as they watched the dreadnought approach the smuggler's ship in the cove. Dorian shifted behind her a moment later, turning his head towards the quivering in the Veil that crawled up their spines. More people surfaced from the shrubbery below, higher in numbers than the ones they'd struck down before, and began to close in on the Chargers' location.

"Shit," Bull mumbled, noticing them as well.

"Your men need to hold that position, Hissrad," the elf warned.

"They'll be killed."

"I'm sorry… but you'll toss away the alliance if they don't."

Cullen bristled on her other side, but stayed silent. He had a cut above his right eye and a burn on his cheek — much as she'd tried, she hadn't been able to keep all attacks from reaching him. They weren't major and she would see to healing them soon enough, but the anger in his eyes was clear — nothing of this had been necessary if he'd been allowed to plan this mission himself.

"It's your decision, Bull," Elsa said, focusing her attention on the warrior alone and not the elf standing beside them. "Just know that the Chargers have been valuable allies to us from the start — I would not wish to repay them by turning our backs on them now."

Bull glanced from her to the dreadnought, to his team standing below. Finally, he briefly looked over his shoulder at Dorian standing some distance away. Elsa could feel the mage's tension, shifting in the Veil despite his best efforts to keep it under control.

"… Anything for the team?" Bull grumbled, giving her a sideways look.

"Anything for the team," she assured him. "You all have a place with us."

The Qunari swallowed visibly and took a deep breath, but then raised the horn to his mouth. The signal for retreat bellowed across the beach. Krem looked up to where they were standing, waved in response, and quickly led the group away from danger. Elsa raised her chin as the dreadnought came under siege, ignoring the twinge of defeat twisting in her chest. Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder as the ship went up in flames. She gave him an uncertain look, but he merely nodded his agreement with the decision. There would be no alliance with the Qun today.

While neither of them mourned the outcome of the mission for long, it still took them most of the afternoon to find the right words in informing the others at Skyhold. That night they found a tavern and got spectacularly drunk. Bull was the most affected by the affair, confiding in them only after a severe amount of alcohol what it meant now that he was Tal-Vashoth. Yet she didn't regret the decision, not when in the early morning hours she watched him sing drinking songs with his men, while Dorian sat happily nestled under his massive arm beside him.

o - o - o

However relieved he was at the resolution on the Storm Coast, Dorian's nerves steadily increased over the following days. Though Elsa could feel his unrest like she'd recently experienced her own, she was grateful for the distraction it provided Bull. Rather than focusing on his own predicament, the Qunari was eager to spend his energy on supporting the mage instead. He didn't leave his side for a moment up until he eventually followed him into Redcliffe's tavern as well. Elsa and Cullen remained outside, ready to jump to action should the need arise.

It did not. There was no retainer or emissary waiting to take Dorian anywhere by force. When the mage emerged some time later, it was with a single older man instead, who did not show any indication of malicious intent. Elsa watched them exchange words, after which Dorian turned on his heel and strode downhill with Iron Bull closely behind. He shook his head when she opened her mouth to inquire, jumped on his horse, and sent it off in a gallop. The pair continued to ride even when they reached camp, where Cullen pulled his mare to a halt and gave her a questioning look. She nodded in agreement and they stayed behind, deciding to give the pair some space until they would return on their own accord.

A hand gently shook Elsa awake late at night. She looked up at Cullen, who had kept watch, and he nodded into the distance. "They're back."

The mage and the Qunari dismounted and while Bull took care of their horses, Dorian sat down beside them. "I don't really want to talk about it," was the first thing he said. He looked drained, but no longer distressed. More than anything, it seemed like he simply wanted to go to bed.

"You don't have to," Elsa murmured, rubbing the sleep from her own eyes. "Just know that you can."

"Thanks for that," Dorian said, a hint of his usual lightness resurfacing, "Also for taking the time to come with… all of you. I appreciate it."

"Anytime."

"It shouldn't be necessary again," he huffed, "I won't be seeing him, not for a long time… When do we reach Varric?"

"In about a day or so," Cullen replied.

"Good," Dorian sighed, looking up at the stars, "Time to smack some sense into him. We've gone long enough without a proper game of cards."

o - o - o

The mage's gloom lingered the next day, keeping him more on edge than usual. He glanced darkly at Varric's friend when she criticised how long they'd taken, after which Varric tried to diffuse the situation with a joke. Yet the rogue's own discomfort was clear, and it wasn't only Dorian's nerves that were triggered by it. Elsa felt an uncomfortable feeling stir in her gut when they descended into the caves, distinct from the voices of the lyrium crawling into her subconscious.

"How did they find out about this thaig?" Cullen inquired after they'd cut down some of the Carta guarding a stone bridge. His shoulders and the grip on his sword were far more tense than usual — the exact opposite of what he instructed his recruits to do. Elsa inquired after his well-being with a glance, alarmed at seeing the red lyrium tint the amber of his eyes. He only shook his head. _I'm alright… but let's be quick about this._

"It really doesn't matter how they found out," Bianca replied casually, "What's important is that we shut it down now."

"In order to prevent it from occurring again, we need to know how it happened in the first place," Elsa argued, "Keep an eye out for clues," she told the rest, "Maybe there are some orders or correspondence to find that give us more information."

"You think they'll just leave something like that lying around?" Bianca quipped sharply.

"You'd be surprised how often they do," Varric murmured.

The Carta soon discovered their intrusion, but stood little chance of keeping them out. Cullen stayed close by her side, watching for any rogues trying to sneak up on them while she took out the archers from afar. Bianca was a good shot, something she'd announced proudly to them upon their arrival, but she paid little attention to the rest of their formation. Elsa had to overextend her barrier several times to include her in it, weakening the protections around the rest of the team. Dorian clicked his tongue in annoyance and called out to her to stay within range, but his advice fell on deaf ears. Elsa wiped her brow from the exertion, remembering how Hawke had told her the same when they first arrived in Crestwood. Though she'd listened better than Bianca did, she hadn't fully understood the importance of it at the time. Now that she was in the Champion's role of safeguarding her team, she felt indignation rise at the selfish behaviour of the dwarf, as well as a new sense of appreciation for how remarkably patient Hawke had been with her at the start.

The general discontent with the situation, fuelled by the stress of the preceding weeks, only increased the deeper into the caves they went. When Bianca finally admitted that she had leaked the location in the first place, it threatened to bubble over into outright resentment. Bartrand, Meredith, Myca, and a thousand others… Each of them had plenty of reasons for staring daggers at the woman before them. Dorian's mood further darkened with every attempt of her to explain herself, coalescing when she dared to throw a barb at Varric for not taking action himself. The mage calmed when Bull placed a hand on his shoulder and Elsa took a deep breath herself, holding up a hand to quiet their objections while she reasoned through her own.

It wasn't fair of them to expect Bianca could have anticipated the influence Corypheus had on Grey Wardens or the consequences that would follow… and yet, while Elsa wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, the dwarf showed an utter unwillingness in admitting the extended effects of her mistake that made it hard to do so. More than that, she couldn't simply ignore the hurt on Varric's face at the discovery that the woman had betrayed his trust. Considering that he didn't seem wholly surprised by the revelation, Elsa figured it likely wasn't the first time either.

Varric walked away, shaking his head and muttering an excuse for Bianca's behaviour that twisted in Elsa's gut. Cullen quietly asked her if she wanted the woman arrested, but she shook her head. He cast the dwarf another glance, then made to follow Varric out with the other two. They paused when Elsa didn't join them and Dorian gave her a probing look. She nodded for them to go ahead — the moment they were out of earshot, Bianca turned to her.

"Get him killed," she said darkly, letting go of the aloof attitude she'd kept up around Varric, "and I'll feed you your own eyeballs, Inquisitor."

For a moment it seemed like she'd expected to simply leave after a statement like that. Elsa placed a hand on her quiver and took a small step to block her path. The dwarf could easily go around, but her behaviour so far had indicated she was too proud to do so. She halted instead and sceptically glanced up at the Inquisitor towering over her. Elsa, in turn, was glad she wore boots with a slight heel on this trip.

"Excuse me? If _I_ get him killed?"

"Yes," Bianca snapped back. "His day-to-day wasn't going around shooting things in caves before. You put him in danger."

"That's rich. Pray tell, who put him at risk by coming to us in the first place? Correct me if I'm wrong, but it would be a lot worse for him if the Merchant's Guild found out you were together, no? Considering he is the 'expendable' one?"

"What's it to you?"

"Don't make the mistake of thinking no one here cares for him," Elsa said coolly, "You're the one that messed up. You went behind his back, then came running to him with no regard for his safety in the hope we wouldn't find out what you did."

"I… made a mistake," she said begrudgingly, crossing her arms. "I just wanted to fix it."

"I've sentenced people who've done less harm than you have with your mistake," Elsa berated her. "The only reason I don't take you in right now is because it's not what Varric would want, but let me issue a warning of my own." She lifted her chin and lowered her voice, fixing the woman through narrowed eyes. "Leave him be, or suffer the consequences. It doesn't seem like he's off any better when you're around."

"You don't know anything —"

"I know everyone makes choices and yours did not include him. I don't care for your reasons, just have the decency to stop expecting he'll be there for you when you're not in a position to return the favour."

The dwarf glared at her as she contemplated her reply. Elsa merely raised her eyebrows. She could continue to dress her down in perpetuity, though she doubted it would make a difference to how this woman viewed herself. It would appear she'd been the celebrated genius for too long to accept any criticism. But brilliant smith or not, Elsa would be damned if she allowed her to cause any harm to her friend a moment longer.

"Don't contact us again," she told her. "As long as Varric is with the Inquisition, I'll have you arrested if I see you around him. I don't care if I start a war with the Merchant's Guild." She turned her back on her, giving the dwarf one last look as she drew herself up to her full height. "You'll feed me my own eyeballs?" Elsa scoffed, "You'll need to build yourself a ladder first."

Varric sat alone by the fire when she arrived at camp — evidently the others were occupying themselves somewhere else to give them a moment alone. Elsa half contemplated packing up and moving immediately to put as much distance between them and his ex as they could, but thought the better of it. She was a woman, not a dragon, demon, or darkspawn, and she was unlikely to come find them after what had just happened. Furthermore… Varric was an adult, one over fifteen years her senior. He was free to make his own choices and yet… it had been strange to see him in this dynamic, where he tolerated the type of snarky behaviour he undoubtedly would call out others on. Perhaps he was too close to it to recognise it as problematic… just like she hadn't initially recognised her own. She sat down beside him, wondering to what extent it was alright to interfere, like Cullen and Dorian had done for her. Though she didn't regret a word of it, perhaps she'd already overstepped in telling off Bianca. She wasn't sure how much Varric would appreciate direct critique… she sure hadn't herself at first.

"I'm sorry, Sterling," Varric sighed before she could speak, "I'm glad to have answers but… shit. The second she showed up, I knew. I just…"

"I didn't notice," Elsa admitted, "I was preoccupied for a while and… overall, you seemed to enjoy her company."

"I did," he groaned, resting his forehead in his hand, "I always do…"

"What happened between you two?"

"Ah… we were, as you put it, involved for some time," he said, smirking faintly, "It caused a ruckus with the Merchant's Guild. She left, got married to some big shot… end of story."

"Except that she kept seeing you."

"On occasion," he said wryly, "when it was possible."

"Varric…" Elsa began hesitantly. "I… wouldn't be here now, like this, if it wasn't for you. I… I hope you know I have your best interests at heart."

He continued to look into the flames, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "You're not the first to tell me that, you know."

"… What?"

"I know what you want to say, Sterling. Hawke sat me down for the same conversation once… She _loathed _Bianca."

"I didn't realise they'd met."

"They didn't, but you don't really think that would keep Hawke from having an opinion, do you?" he smirked. "She found out I went to meet her once and wouldn't give in until I told her everything. The names she called me…" He chuckled softly to himself. "What a poet she was."

"Did her opinion… change anything?"

"It did. I didn't meet with her anymore since then — didn't even have any contact until I informed her of the lyrium. It was meant as a warning, not… a project. I didn't see her again until she showed up here." He sighed deeply and scratched the back of his head, making more of his hair fall loose from the band tying it back. "The timing was… I don't know. After what happened in the desert, it was nice to fall back into something familiar for a bit… even if it's fucked."

"I see… It can be hard to let go of the past."

"As you know well," he said gently. "I appreciate your concern, Sterling, but I do this to myself. I'm no good at dealing with this shit, confronting her about the crap she pulls. For her to spread word of the lyrium though…" He shook his head. "I told her how dangerous it is, what it did to my brother… It's hard not to take that personally."

"If you're asking me… I don't think you should try to excuse it, Varric. Enough is enough."

"Yeah… Maybe you're right."

They sat in silence, listening to the crackling of the flames. Not long from now, it would be a year since she first sat together with him like this in Haven. A lot had happened since she'd made her first friend in the Inquisition… Quite possibly the first true one she'd made in her whole life. She loved him… there was no other way to describe it. Though the feelings she had for him were different than those she had for Cullen, it didn't make them any less important. Yet she wished he could find that same happiness that she had — he deserved that much. At the very least, he deserved better than a doomed relationship with a woman who could never be there for him.

"Tell me," she said quietly, "The reason you don't tell people the real story behind the crossbow…"

"I'm sure you can guess," he shrugged, "I don't tell stories of my own mistakes."

"That's not true. Many stories from your time with Hawke start with what you considered a mistake on your part."

"Fair enough," he huffed, "I suppose, with anything else… I can gloss over the parts that don't work, embellish what is lacking. In this case? What I have to work with is a simple case of a boy being strung along by a girl… Even I can't spin anything from that."

"Perhaps… there's a different story hiding in there yet," Elsa suggested.

"Perhaps. I might find out some day."

"I hope you do." She shifted a little in place and stroked her hair behind her ear. "For the record… that boy is worth a dozen of her."

He smiled warmly, lifting some of the regret from his face. "Sorry to drag you into this, Sterling."

"You can drag me anywhere, Varric."

He gave her a look and she rolled her eyes. Varric chuckled softly as she inched closer to him and he raised his arm to let her huddle underneath. She wrapped herself around him, unable to clasp her hands together fully around his robust frame. Instead she held on to his tunic, hoping her presence was enough to comfort him.

"… Varric?"

"Yeah, Sterling?"

"Is… she the reason you and Hawke never —"

He laughed loudly, shaking her along with him. "You and Curly need to stop obsessing about that."

"Alright, alright," she chuckled. "I'm sorry."

"Why do you feel that we should've been like that anyway?"

"I… I don't know. It's what most people want, isn't it? Someone special to share your life with. It just… it seemed like you found something really rare in each other."

The dwarf quieted for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing her arm. "She was," he said quietly, "… and we did. That didn't mean I had to have her all to myself or that she had to carry my spawn. Regardless of what might've crossed our minds once upon a time, that wouldn't have been in her plan anyway."

"I can imagine that, but… I don't know. I just want good things for you."

They fell silent once more, leaving only the sounds of the night to fill the void. His chest rose gently against her cheek, where she could feel the slow beating of his heart, sturdy and steady like he was himself.

He pulled her in closer, his strong hand tensing lightly around her shoulder, and he briefly pressed his face against her crown. "I have those," he murmured, "Thanks."

"… It's good to have you back, Varric."

"Good to be back, Sterling."

A rustling in the undergrowth made him loosen his grip and they looked up to see the others emerge on the edge of camp with additional firewood.

"Are we interrupting?" Dorian inquired.

"You are, Sparkler," Varric said jokingly, "but it does not follow that the interruption should be unwelcome."

They sat down around the fire and Cullen added the new kindling to the flames. Varric continued his uncanny ability of conjuring alcohol from seemingly nowhere and they settled into the game of cards Dorian had been craving soon after. After a few glasses Elsa wondered if she might develop a drinking problem at some point before the war was over, but she decided not to be too concerned about it yet tonight.

She held her mug in her hands, warming the wine with her magic, and looked around the fire. Dorian glanced at the sky in exasperation as Bull made a crude comment, which the Qunari followed by bellowing a hearty laugh at the mage's predictable response. On her other side, Cullen was gesturing at Varric's cards, the light dancing in his irises as he tried to uncover the ways in which the other was cheating. The rogue wore a confident smirk in turn, easily arguing back with the air of a seasoned rhetorician. Elsa ran her hand through Cullen's hair and he looked back at her, mildly annoyed she wasn't joining in on the argument.

"Why do you always let him get away with it?"

"Because that's the game, love," she laughed, "You just need to get better at it."

"That _cannot _be the solution. There are rules for a reason!"

The rest of them laughed at his unchecked indignation. Elsa kissed him, at which he rolled his eyes at her, and she exchanged a knowing smile with the dwarf as Cullen turned back to his cards. The game continued and the drinks flowed, until they went to sleep huddled under furs with a clear autumn sky above their heads. Elsa lay nestled in the nook of Cullen's arm, listening to the rhythmic flow of his breath. He fell asleep more easily out here and still tended to be asleep by the time she woke. She snuggled a little closer into him, feeling herself drift off under a comforting thought.

_You've got some good people around you, you know?_

"I know," she whispered into the night. "I'll take care of them… I promise."


	57. Future

"You have to run away, Rosalie!"

"Why?"

He cast his eyes to the heavens. "Because you're an apostate," he explained impatiently, "We'll take you to the Circle if we catch you."

"Is that a bad place?"

"What? No, it's not. It's good, but you don't want to go there."

"Why not?"

Cullen pinched his nose with the air of a person far older than his own ten years of age. Up until recently his younger sister would simply do as the rest of them told her, but recently all she did was ask questions and demand explanations. It frustrated him, not in the least because he often didn't have the exact answers to her inquiries. Not that he wanted to admit as such. Personally, he didn't think much good came from asking too many questions. Some things were true — rain fell from a grey sky, the sheep lambed in the spring, any meal tasted better after spending a day outside. These were only some of the truths he was sure of, simple facts that could be observed and were not to be disputed. They lived in his mind alongside many others. Among such immovable facts were the knowledge that templars protected the people from dangerous heretics. He quietly hoped Rosalie wouldn't think to ask him what a heretic was exactly — all he needed to know was that they were bad and that he would do a good thing in catching them once he would finally become a templar.

"Apostates think they can live without protection, Rose," Mia answered for him, ever more patient than he was with coercing their sibling to play her part in their games. "Like how Bran thinks he can climb trees and never fall down."

"I don't fall down!" Bran objected loudly. He wore a wooden bowl from the dinner set on his head for a helmet, slightly askew, and defiantly brandished the stick he used as a sword. He'd named it 'Dragontooth'. Cullen thought this was a silly thing to do — he'd asked the local templars whether they did such a thing and they'd laughed at the notion. Therefore, ever since then, so did he.

"Yes, you do, Bran," Mia stated plainly, "You did last week. So, Rose, apostates think they can control magic without help, but they can't. They need the templars to help them… like how you need help from Mum and Dad, or me, for some things, but don't always want it."

"Like putting on my shoes?" Rosalie chirped.

Mia nodded. "That's why templars need to bring the apostates to the Circle, so they can help them. Once they're there, the apostates see that it is a nice place and they are happy, and everyone is safer for it."

"Exactly," Cullen agreed, "So, can you run away now? Please?"

"It's okay, I want everyone to be safe," Rosalie said happily, her blond curls bouncing on her shoulders. "You can just bring me to the Circle. I'm sure the apostates don't want to run if the templars just explain to them why they should go there."

Cullen tossed his head into his neck with a loud groan, then stomped away in the direction of the village. He wasn't going to learn a thing if this continued — how was he ever going to be a templar at this rate?

o - o - o

Twenty-one years later, a very different person stood watching the place where that boy had ran off from. On a crossroads, just outside a newly built cottage far sturdier than the rundown farmhouse that had been there in its place, there was little left of his old life at all, save for the phantoms of memories in his own mind.

His eyes trailed the path to the town, the one that he had walked to get here. It had been much longer in his memory. It used to be a dusty trail that turned into a mudslide come winter. Now it was a cobblestone road that led to the main road on one end and flowed into the town square on the other. Once there had been a village green in the middle of the plaza, with a strange statue upon it that appeared to curse the skies — a golem, in fact, as Leliana told him once she learned of his hometown. Now both it and the green were gone, making way for a memorial dedicated to the Fifth Blight and a new notice board. All around it, the buildings he remembered had been replaced with others. The only constant was the chantry, which, like the road, appeared much less imposing than it had a lifetime ago.

A hand closed around his. The memory of his siblings dissipated as he focused upon Elsa instead, who looked up at him with a questioning tilt of her head.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. It's just… strange to be here, I guess. It's not how I remember."

"Did it change a lot?" she asked, looking around.

"Quite," he nodded, "I suppose it largely burned down once the darkspawn flooded this area. The arl has rebuilt it differently."

"Oh…"

She'd been asking him questions about Ferelden for as long as they'd been travelling. While he didn't consider them as unwelcome as he had found Rosalie's, he did find that he often lacked an answer to them as well. To her surprise, he had little knowledge of the other areas they'd come through. Evidently she had not come to the realisation before that a farmer's son didn't get to travel much beyond the trail from the field to the stable and back. Afterwards he'd been in training and eventually the Circle — neither had provided much opportunity for exploration. Even the Arling of Redcliffe, where his village was situated, was largely unknown to him, save for what he'd heard through gossip over time. What little he had seen of it personally was hardly recognisable by now.

He told her about the things he did remember. They were small, inconsequential to anyone but him and someone like Elsa, who still retained an interest in his life he didn't feel it deserved. He told her of afternoons playing in the wilderness, of winter evenings by the fire, of chasing after the sheep with the dogs... Perhaps she had hoped the village would be just like he'd left it, and that it would spark a whole new line of investigation for her to go down. In a way, he was happy that it didn't. He hadn't been sure until he got here, but seeing less things that reminded him directly of his past turned out to be a positive. Though he'd indulged Elsa's inquiries, it had not removed his lingering reservation in acknowledging the existence of that boy completely. On the one hand, he had been happy, full of hope, so sure of the world and his purpose in it. On the other… woefully misguided.

He pulled their pack higher up his shoulder and led her further down the road, searching for the trail he hoped was still there. He found it shortly after. It was overgrown, like it always had been, though what had seemed like a forest to push through before now only reached to his middle. They snaked their way through, going downwards into the valley. The crickets chirped beside them in the tall grass, serenading the fireflies drifting above.

The lake lay some distance away from town, at the foot of the hillside. The Frostback Mountains decorated the horizon across the water, their white peaks standing out starkly against the night sky. The water itself was ever surrounded by tall reeds and other grasses, providing perfect shelter for nesting birds in the spring. He dropped their bag at the start of a small dock. It extended some distance into the pool, tempting fishermen to try their luck. Cullen had watched them often from his various hiding places around the shoreline, wondering at how they could remain so still for such a long time without seemingly anything to do. He hadn't yet known at the time how much he would need to exercise that same skill standing guard in the future.

"This is beautiful."

The stars reflected off Elsa's pale eyes as she looked up at the sky. Her hair shone brilliantly, nearly white in the sheen of the moon. Cullen felt himself relax whenever he saw her like this, the serenity of her features providing the same calming affect as seeing a beautiful vista or looking upon Andraste's visage in an empty chantry.

"You are beautiful."

She rolled her eyes and laughed, breaking through the hush of her enchanting appearance. Cullen held out his arm, inviting her to snuggle underneath. She wrapped herself around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder.

"So this is what you wanted to show me?" she asked quietly, lifting her chin to look at him.

"Yeah… I used to come here when I was a boy. I had to think of it after we were in Orlais."

"How come?"

"The morning after the battle, you said that you have me at my best," he reminded her, "I am not one to be nostalgic for the past, but you only knew me after Ferelden. I… wanted to share something with you from before that."

That had been his motivation in bringing her here, but he had not anticipated the conflicted nature of his feelings once he would do so. He scanned the waterline, seeing a boy enjoying a moment's peace from his crowded home, a group of village children pushing each other into the water, four siblings running through the reeds… playing apostates and templars.

He hadn't learned to fear them, not yet. They had their place in the Circle, like the sheep had their place in the stable. Training had first exposed him to their potential danger, but even then he hadn't been afraid. Mesmerised, rather, carefully intrigued by the power they possessed. Fear only came later, during that fateful event… it had made him see those stories he'd been told about mages and templars in a whole new light.

"Are you okay?"

He'd fallen silent, he realised. Elsa had loosened her embrace and leaned back, a faint frown lining her forehead. "This place always brought me peace," he explained, "I wanted to give you that, among everything else, if only for a moment. I hadn't considered it would stir up so many other memories."

"You bring me peace every day," she assured him, "What memories?"

Cullen leaned his shoulder against the dock's support post and pulled her against him. The water looked the same as it had back then, though he hadn't usually been here at night. The surface was still without the movement of waterfowl, a mirror reflecting the mountains in the distance and the sky above. Looking below he could see his reflection looking back at him, so different from what it used to be that it was hard to reconcile with the boy he could picture sitting on the dock beside them.

"I always wanted to be a templar," he said, "To protect people. I suppose I am realising how that desire was based on stories perpetuated by a system that has long stopped functioning in the way I have been led to believe. While I was training to combat magic, your family was hiding you away, teaching you to fear yourself. Somehow it reached a point where that was the preferred scenario to the one intended by the Chantry."

"You left here with good intentions," Elsa murmured. "You couldn't have known at the time how broken things would become."

"I suppose so," he conceded, "but I know it now. After Ferelden I served out of fear and because I was compelled. It is different now, more so ever since I quit the lyrium. I thought if I removed the part that kept me chained I would find my own purpose again."

"Aren't you?"

"It has definitely improved," he assured her, stroking a stray lock of hair from her face. "I serve the Inquisition because I want to… I am with you because I want to. Both are things I had not considered possible until a short time ago. I want to help fix things where we can, but I find it hard to think how. Cassandra seems to have ideas, but I wouldn't know where to begin. There are so many different motivations and deep-seated beliefs… it is a daunting task."

"It would require a lot of discussion," Elsa mused. She glanced up, searching the stars as she pensively bit her lower lip. "Someone we know being the Divine would help. We have good relations with the templars and Vivienne seems keen to have her say in representing mages… We might take on an executive function, but at the same time we'd need to get everyone together — nobility, government officials, the Chantry — and decide on new legislation."

"I'm not sure how much I could contribute to that," he sighed, his stomach turning at the thought of sitting through long meetings with nobility and bureaucrats all vying for their own benefit.

"What do you want to help with?"

"… What do you mean?"

"I mean, what is most important to you? It is a daunting task to tackle everything, I agree, but that doesn't mean smaller initiatives cannot have effect."

"I see…" He thought a moment. "I… am not sure. I have given more thought to children with magic and their families since we discussed it… seeing the decisions your family took. Perhaps something can be done there."

"That is something I feel quite strongly about," Elsa nodded, "Perhaps building schools… improved education on magic, also for non-mages, that isn't based in fear. Building communities around Circles, rather than seeing them as their own entity separate from society. It could allow families to move with their children."

"Those… are good suggestions," Cullen said, impressed. "You've given this a lot of thought already."

"Not really," she shrugged, "Just some ideas. The implementation will be the real challenge. It requires deals with local gentry, a lot of construction… most difficult, all parties involved need to support new ways of teaching about and relating to magic. If families move with their children, they need to be able to practice their own profession there… or take on other roles that serve that particular community. It would require a possibility for reeducation. I am not considering an implementation of the Qun, but they are… efficient."

He stared at her. "They sew mages' mouths shut, I believe."

"They are cruel and extremely ruthless in their implementation," she said quickly, her eyes growing wider. "I am not suggesting anything like that. I'm just saying, there are some aspects of their social structure that have certain benefits. They eliminate conflicting motivations and ensure everyone has a purpose that serves the greater good."

"At the cost of personal liberty."

"Of course… though one could argue the lower classes have little choice in how they live their lives in our society either, nor do mages or templars. I do not want to live under the Qun and I think Bull is better off without it, but it's not all so black and white." She cleared her throat with a small cough and looked away, stroking her hair behind her ear. "Is there anything else you would like to focus on?"

"I… suppose I still feel compelled to improve situations for templars," he continued, his mind lingering on her previous argument. "There are those who have been through worse than I have. Once their sacrifices are made… what is their end? Perhaps some could do as I have, but if not… are they leashed until the day they die, while lyrium takes their mind away?"

"Some might make that choice," she said gently, "You've said yourself some would rather forget."

"Sure… but then what becomes of them? It was up to the discretion of their knight-commander up until know. They might take pity on them and reduce their duties for as long as possible, until their condition can no longer be hidden from the Chantry. Eventually they are cast aside."

"That shouldn't happen," Elsa agreed. "Nor should anyone wishing to leave have to do so alone, like you."

He breathed a long sigh, tightening his arms around her. She responded in kind, inching closer until he could rest his chin on top of her head. "I was not alone," he whispered into her hair.

"Perhaps a templar matchmaking service then?" she joked.

"Perhaps," he chuckled, "though I doubt any will be as lucky as I have been." The thought reminded him of the item hidden away in his pocket. He reached inside, struggling slightly with the tighter fabric of his travel armour, and pulled it out. The metal, scuffed from being carried around for years upon years, shone dully in the moonlit night. Elsa angled her head — a habit he hadn't noticed before her seminal trip with Hawke — and eyed it with curiosity.

"What's that?"

"My brother gave it to me before I left for templar training," he told her, flipping the coin up and catching it in mid-air. "He said it was for good luck."

"… I suppose your luck could have been worse?" she grimaced.

"For some time I did wonder if it was cursed instead," he laughed, "or whether I was receiving divine retribution for defying the templars' rules in keeping it. But I survived everything I was caught up in… in retrospect, I can't help but think it did something."

"It worked better than Myca's medallion," Elsa said softly. Her eyes turned cloudy for an instant and she sighed within his arms. Cullen waited for her to compose herself, which she did a moment later. She returned his smile and leaned in to kiss him. "I'm glad it did for you."

He held it out to her. "I'd like you to take it."

She glanced at his hand, then back to his face. "Why?"

"Humour me," he pressed gently, "We will need to face Corypheus again before any of our plans can come to fruition… _you_ will need to face him again. Hawke was right — he won't come for me or anyone else in the end. I'd rather have luck be on your side when the time comes."

Her almond eyes narrowed slightly. "I'd rather have your luck continue."

"… Please?"

She frowned and took a deep breath, staring at the copper in his hand. "No," she said, shaking her head. "I won't."

"Elsa —"

"Let it protect you," she said, closing his fingers over the coin, "and us protect each other. When he comes for me, I know you'll be right there by my side."

There was no doubt in her face, just like there hadn't been any ever since they came on this trip. He'd been unsure at first, fighting with her and the others rather than a battalion of soldiers at his back. Yet she had taken charge, like he had for her at Therinfal. After the first fight, taking down Venatori at the Storm Coast, any doubt he'd had was gone. Her presence had enveloped him like a protective cloak, even from across the battlefield. He'd received a few scrapes and bruises, sure, but at no point did he feel the vulnerability he'd experienced at Adamant. He'd kept anyone from laying a finger on her in turn, relying on the other skills he'd honed over his years of training. If and when they would meet Corypheus in the field, he vowed to fulfil that role again.

"Alright," he conceded, putting the coin back in his pocket, "but then you better stay close."

A mischievous smile formed around her mouth. She pushed into him, sliding her hands behind his neck, her fingers twirling into his hair. The tip of her tongue ran across her lips, making them glisten. "How close?"

Her breath quivered on his skin when he pulled her close. "… Very."

He woke the next morning to a sharp nip at his ear. "Ouch, Maker's —" A pair of black, shiny eyes stared straight into his. The raven's feathers shimmered in the early rays of the day, damp from morning dew. The bird tilted its head, then jammed its talon into his arm. "Alright, alright," Cullen sighed, untying the attached scroll. "I get it."

"What's going on?" Elsa murmured beside him.

He unrolled the message and scanned the contents. "It's from Leliana."

She lifted her head and pushed herself up from the bedroll. The fur slid down her body, revealing the curve of her shoulder. Seeing her naked continued to be wholly disarming experience. This morning was no exception, especially when she reached up to rub the sleepiness from her eyes. His gaze drifted along the line of her collar bone, down to her breasts hanging loosely from her form. They were soft and further apart than in the day, not pushed together with a corset or pressed into her torso by her armour. He lingered on them for a moment, to which she smiled knowingly, then returned his attention to the letter in his hand. Maker knew he didn't want to relay the consequences it carried, but his continued silence soon did so for him.

"Do we need to go?"

He nodded slowly. "The Arbor Wilds," he replied, "Corypheus is on the move."


	58. Close Calls

The Inquisition's banners hung sluggishly from their standards, weighed down by the humidity lingering in the dense forest air. The Arbor Wilds were still far warmer than most of the surrounding country at this time of year. But while the temperatures on the way there had dropped to the freezing point, Cullen preferred those over the suffocating quality pressing down on them now. There was not even the hint of a breeze, nothing to disturb the thick slug oxygenating his lungs. It reminded him of the Harrowings, where magic and lyrium filled the room and his templars had been as on edge as his soldiers were now.

Deep in the jungle, somewhere beyond the treacherous morasses and poisonous creepers trying to keep them from entering, Corypheus was carving his way towards an Elven temple. Their best guess was that an eluvian rested within, and therefore a possibility for him to enter the Fade.

The thought disturbed him, perhaps as much as the introduction of such an artefact into Skyhold's walls had. If one could move through these mirrors, as Morrigan had demonstrated, then logic dictated it could be used to enter their base. Cullen had argued to remove it as soon as possible, yet Elsa had disagreed. She hadn't been specific about why, except that it might be of benefit to them. He'd left it at that, deciding it could be an argument for another time. Depending on what they were going to find today, however, he didn't want to delay the conversation much longer.

"This place gives me the creeps," Rylen grunted, the nervous shift of his eyes reflecting Cullen's own unrest. "No normal magic sleeps here."

"Didn't know you were such a poet, Rylen. Would you rather I'd left you in the desert?"

"Perhaps. I was getting a decent tan… not that there was anyone around to see it besides the quillbacks."

"Not your type, are they?"

"You expect me to lie with a pincushion while you warm the Inquisitor's bed?" Rylen huffed. "Some friend you are. Remind me why I followed you south?"

"I think I offered you a number of benefits," Cullen grinned, "including the opportunity for travel."

His friend barked a short laugh. "Well, you've certainly delivered on that."

They were standing on the edge of a small bluff, overlooking the bustle by the river below. Leliana's people had arrived first. They'd scouted out what lay ahead and delayed Corypheus' efforts by harassing his men. Their forces were now preparing to move out in pursuit of them, hopefully beating the magister to his goal.

Barris emerged from among the activity, weaved his way between the soldiers, and climbed the hill to join them. "Commander," he greeted, and to Rylen, "Captain."

"Knight-Commander. Ready to deploy?"

"Yes, ser. The Nightingale sent word that the Venatori are preparing to leave their camp — we are waiting for her signal to begin the assault. It would seem Corypheus plans to use what is left of the red templars to block our efforts, while his mages push ahead."

Though he was too professional to betray much emotion, something stirred behind the man's dark eyes when he mentioned this. Cullen acknowledged his anger by briefly placing a hand on his shoulder. "Their suffering ends today."

Barris gave a single, solemn nod. "I wish we knew more of the layout of this temple."

"I do too… we'll need to improvise, I think," Cullen sighed, giving him a firm pat on his spaulder before retracting his hand to the pommel of his sword. "Whatever we'll encounter in there will likely render any plans superfluous."

"Rolling with the punches, eh?" Rylen asked, "Surprised you're so relaxed about that."

"Helps to maintain one's sanity," Cullen murmured. "But I think you're right… there is something in these woods."

His eyes trailed over the squads forming up before them. His left hand was in his pocket, habitually twisting his lucky coin between his fingers. Relaxed as he apparently appeared, he _had_ tried to prepare — all of the journey there in fact. Elsa had given the order to mobilise and he'd sent out immediate orders to his troops.

Next he'd replied to Leliana, demanding all information she had. The raven had returned when they were crossing the Frostback Mountains, carrying a short note. The spymaster's people had managed to reach the area, where they met more resistance from the Wilds themselves than they had from Corypheus' forces. The brusque tone of the message indicated she was no more pleased than he that this was all she had uncovered.

From that point on it was clear there was little possibility of devising a strategy. Their route through the impenetrable forest would be crammed and predetermined by how the Venatori had found their way through it. All Cullen could do was get his troops in position and lead the charge once the time would come, together with the two men beside him.

He signalled to Elsa, who stood some distance away with Celene and Josephine. She nodded in return and relayed the message to the other women — they'd be departing soon. Each of them briefly took turns in holding her hand and he watched their lips move in words of encouragement. Elsa did her part in accepting them with grace and an expression of peaceful neutrality. Afterwards she turned away and her eyes hardened for battle.

She checked with her team, then came towards them. Her quiver swung heavily from her hip, filled to the brim with a new type of arrow of Dagna's invention, one that could be augmented with magic more effectively. Barris greeted her with a short bow, while Rylen gave her a casual salute. She returned their gestures with a short nod, friendly yet commanding. Though she'd experienced bursts of insecurity on the way here, he'd never have guessed it was ever there looking at her now.

"Word from Leliana?"

"Any moment now, Your Worship," Barris answered.

"Very well." She turned her attention to the troops, observing them with a critical eye. "We will focus on covering the vanguard while we advance through the forest," she said, pointing out her party taking its position behind the front line. "We'll need to move quickly as soon as the path is clear." She glanced at Cullen, and he nodded in agreement.

The other two took their leave to find their respective squads, while he lingered on the hill with her a moment longer. "Are you alright?"

"Nervous," she admitted. "Without Hawke… this is big. Corypheus will be there —"

"You're ready," he assured her, taking her hand, "and you're not doing it alone."

"I know…" She swallowed down her worries and smiled. "Thank you. Neither are you."

A horn sounded from deep within the forest. It was followed by another, and another, closer with every repeat. Finally it echoed through the troops below. The standard bearers raised their flags in rhythmic waves, hilts of swords got banged against shields, and his lieutenants' voices rang in encouragement through the moor. She looked to him for a long instant, her fingers tensing around his. Then they walked down to their respective positions, his at the front and hers closely behind.

The chase was on.

o - o - o

The army charged forward, following the riverbank towards their target. They passed decrepit buildings and crumbling archways, remnants of a civilisation long lost. Red lyrium had crawled through the area like a weed, casting a red shimmer across the shallow waters. The deeper they pushed, the thicker the air became. It pressed down on him like a blanket, strangling him, only exacerbated by the sweat soaking his clothes and the heat building up under his armour.

The viciousness of their enemy was like nothing he'd encountered before. Cullen sidestepped a charge from a red templar, who got slammed into the ground by a chevalier. He caught another on his shield himself, then finished him off with a savage cut to the neck. No matter how gruesome their comrades died around them, the enemy never flinched. All that they cared for, was to crush those who opposed their master.

A ripple pulled through his spine. Something dark flashed in the corner of his eyes, streaking past. A sharp sting pierced his elbow, shooting up into his shoulder. He hissed, resisting the reflex of dropping his sword. Instead he clung to it, blocked another blow with his shield, and struck.

The assailant materialised around his weapon. Translucent skin the shade of the forest, milky eyes that stared straight into his. The figure hung still like a statue before him, until it slumped down to the ground and slid off the end of his blade.

Cullen glared at his injury. The knife had sliced through his doublet, striking the only weak spot not covered by plating. It had only just grazed his skin, but it didn't matter. It had been enough for the poison to enter his bloodstream. It spread through his veins, like the vines that had overtaken the ruins. He reached for his pack as his mind turned to fog, fumbled with the fastening, and felt about for the different vials. He picked one on instinct rather than by reason and downed it at once. All the while, the burning sensation crept closer to his heart.

He planted his sword in the ground to keep himself from keeling over… and waited. His throat became dry and his lungs constricted, but he didn't pass out. Instead, little by little, the stress on his veins decreased. His vision cleared as the antidote neutralised the venom, just in time to see the person appearing beside him.

"I'm so sorry," Elsa muttered, her hand reaching for the cut. "They came out of nowhere."

"Don't worry." Her spell washed over him, as welcome as a glass of water on a hot day, knitting his skin shut. "You can't be everywhere at once."

"If only," she said through gritted teeth. "They're fighting hard."

"It's do or die for them," Cullen agreed. "But what was that?" He nodded to the figure on the ground. "I thought these ruins were abandoned."

"It would appear they are guarded still." Solas came towards them, observed Elsa's spell, then looked to him. "The magic that resides here is kept alive by these elves."

"Can't we tell them not to attack us?" Cullen rolled his shoulder and tested his sword arm. It still stung a little, but it was alright. "We could use their help rather than fight two enemies at once."

"I do not know their nature, Commander," the elf sighed, "but if they have been here all this time, guarding what is left of their world, I doubt they will care much for who is invading it."

Cullen huffed his displeasure, then turned back to Elsa. Her clothes were soaked and muddy on one side. "Are you alright?" he asked, assessing her for injuries.

"I just stumbled," she assured him. "Clumsy." She pointed upstream. "Leliana sent an update — Corypheus was spotted ahead. We need to make haste."

They found the spymaster in the next clearing. Her people sat crouched in gnarly trees and atop broken archways, keeping their enemy occupied from higher ground. Despite their larger numbers, the opposing forces didn't try to engage her people directly. They were defending instead, forming a wall that blocked them from reaching the far end of the shallow lake. Two large statues stood among the shrubbery, a halla and a hart. Between them, a staircase led to massive stone gate.

Cullen raised his sword and charged in, his forces by his side. They swarmed the red knights, slammed into the guarding wardens. Soon he could see nothing but a sea of lyrium and steel, a forest of swords battling for dominance, red clashing with blue. Utter chaos, in which the end could come in an instant and every second seemed to last a lifetime.

He saw his people knocked into the blood-stained river, where their hands and feet became stuck in the sludge. Red lyrium behemoths roamed among the knights, towering over the battlefield. A warden charged at him, his eyes bloodshot and crazed. Cullen sidestepped to dodge and sharply elbowed him in the back, causing him to stumble headfirst into the water. Another attacker took his place right away, forcing him deeper into the fray.

Some distance away, Iron Bull leapt up from the masses. His axe was overhead, poised for attack. The Qunari seemed to hover in the air, magic slowly swirling around his frame. His weapon came down in a smattering of crystal, sending a wave through the crowd.

Elsa's party broke through the lines. She ran, Morrigan and her team following closely behind. She turned around at the top of the steps and searched the crowd. Her hair had come undone and a bruise was forming around her temple. Cullen bashed another aggressor in the back of the head, buying himself time before the battle would swallow him back up. Her eyes were pleading when they found his. She was no more willing to leave him behind than he was to let her go… but he had to.

"Go on!" he shouted. "Stop him — we're right behind you!"

Elsa hesitated, but nodded. A moment later she'd disappeared underneath the gate.

His mind snapped back to the battle. Even when they struck their foes down, they were not abated. The lyrium was shouting across the field, extending their lives to unnatural lengths. Where other men would retreat, they just kept coming. Where other men would fall, they got back up. Cullen felt his breath grow laboured, his head beginning to swim. There was no end to it. He wanted to go after her, to protect her from whatever lay in wait. Yet whenever he tried to push after her, more enemies were ready to block his path.

A shadow fell across the battlefield. He winced as the dragon flew overhead, bellowing a piercing scream. Its fire skid across the ground, spreading lyrium wherever it touched. It glared in the half-shade — razor sharp spikes that burst from the water with sizzling sparks, skewering whomever didn't jump out of the way. Cullen watched the trail form, cursing under his breath…

Until he saw it.

The dragon made no distinction between friend or foe, did not take into account the state of the fight. Though Corypheus' forces were not in danger of it, neither could they easily pass through the stalagmites sprouting into existence. The creature had carved a wall, blocking two thirds of the battling forces from reaching the stairs. He, on the other hand, found himself on the right side of it.

With a shout and a gesture, he gathered his squad and signalled Rylen to hold the line. His team worked as a unit, pushing through the remainder of the forces. They scaled the steps and entered the vaulted tunnel, charging ahead without allowing their eyes to get used to the dark. A pinprick of light beckoned them towards the exit on the far end. He dashed towards it, willing every fibre of his tired body to carry him forward.

A blinding flash washed over them, followed by a deafening blast. The tunnel shuddered in the shock wave, shaking the ground beneath their feet. His men stumbled around him while he barely remained upright. Bolts of electricity ricocheted between the walls, heat burned in the hilt of his sword. Panic took hold of him as soon as his mind could conjure it — she hadn't been that far ahead.

For a long moment he heard nothing but the ringing in his ears. He blinked furiously, trying to clear his blurry vision, and coughed against the dust falling from the ceiling. The dot of light gradually became visible again as it settled — quiet and unassuming, like it had been before. Their sopping feet echoed hollow against the stone as they continued their way forward on shaky feet. The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, giving him far too much time to imagine the worst.

The temple rose up before them, age-old architecture carried by an entanglement of trees that reached far into the sky. Cullen found himself on the edge of a raised platform, overlooking the bridge leading into the mists. He scanned the scene, his heart pulsing against his ribs, his fear increasing with every corpse that lay scattered across the ground.

A group of people walked among the fog, cautiously stepping around the bloodied remains. The shadowy frame of a dwarf, a hulking figure with horns, the silhouettes of staves… the arch of a bow.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Elsa!"

They all turned around. "We're okay!" she called, jogging a few steps back. "The elves tried to stop him — Corypheus blew himself up."

"The Venatori?"

"They went ahead. We need to be quick — they're looking for something called the Well of Sorrows."

"Well of Sorrows?" He glanced at Morrigan, who had mentioned nothing of the sort. "Alright. We'll be down in —"

A guttural noise drew their attention to a point somewhere below the balustrade. Though he had not heard it in a long time, he recognised it instantly — the sound of breaking bones and ripping skin, tearing themselves apart and reforming into something new. He'd heard it in Ferelden and he'd heard it in Kirkwall… he'd hoped he never had to hear it again. His stomach turned as he looked upon the battered body of a fallen Grey Warden, seeing its legs snap under its torso and its arms crack themselves in places where no joints existed. Something began to rise from its shoulders, tearing itself loose by ripping through the warrior's spine.

"Run!"

She stared at him with wide eyes, until Bull grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. Corypheus' shape rose up behind them, stretching his hand towards the fleeing Inquisitor.

The dragon appeared with a heavy beat of its wings and chased after them. The fire travelled across the bridge, hot on their heels, setting the moss between the tiles alight in a fiery blaze. Their frantic shouts echoed through the valley, until flame met stone in a powerful blast, exploding with a bang against the temple's defensive magic.

Corypheus roared in anger. His dragon answered and turned towards them with a sweeping arc, fire building in the back of its throat. Burning embers seared his lungs, steel clattered against stone, and something broke with a sickening crunch.

A moment later, everything went still.

o - o - o

Cullen fell.

Rather, he thought he was falling. Or at least, he thought he should be. Something told him that was usually what happened if there was no ground beneath you — gravity would make sure you found some. There was just one problem… gravity no longer seemed to affect him the way it might have done once.

He pictured gravity trying its best, attempting to grab onto something it could use to bring him down — wherever that was. Except it no longer had anything to hold on to. No past or future. No duty, no memories, no fears or doubts. No armour on his body, no sword in his hand. Everything that had weighed him down… it simply did not exist here.

He was weightless, drifting through the Void.

He liked it.

He opened his eyes after a while, for it seemed to be the only thing to do. To his surprise he was not in fact floating, but rather standing with both feet on the ground. So there was a ground then. He was okay with this as well.

A well-trodden road lay rolled out like a carpet, forming a straight line towards the horizon. Golden fields framed it on either side, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The sun shone on the flowing wheat waving gently in the breeze, ripe for harvest. Cullen took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the late summer air of the Fereldan countryside.

The road ahead was long, but calm. He knew what lay at the end of it. After all his sacrifices, the Maker's reward was finally in reach. At times he'd wondered if it was real, questioned His plan for him. Yet his wavering had been forgiven. The peace he'd longed for waited for him at the end of that road. All he had to do, was walk it.

A rustling of wings approached. A bird soared through the cloudless sky, the warm light glistening on its brown coat. He watched it swoop down into the field with a graceful dive. It resurfaced a moment later, carrying something in its claws.

It settled down on the road before him, forcing its writhing prey to the ground. Cullen couldn't tell what it was. The creature's legs sputtered, struggling for freedom, until it eventually went still. He stared at the scene, appalled by this disturbance to the perfect stillness. The bird stared back, its yellow eyes shimmering.

"You need to get out of here."

He wasn't surprised it could talk, though he could faintly remember a time where such a thing might have unnerved him. Rather than disturbed, he was curious. Not at how it had the ability to speak, but rather at why it sounded familiar to him.

"Why?" he asked. "It's nice here."

"It's too early." It jerked its beak up, pointing out the midday sun. "The day is still long."

He frowned and looked up. The light was blinding, but not painful. The longer he stared at it, the spottier his vision became. Faint shapes formed on his retinas, a shadowy creature morphing into another. He'd been scared before he came here because of that, but it all seemed rather unimportant now.

"I was fighting," he said quietly, probing his mind. "I'm always fighting."

"Must be tiring."

Details were slowly returning to him now, but he didn't welcome them. They'd gathered allies, gained respect, won every battle. He'd allowed himself to think of what would come after, to carefully consider a world once the fighting was done…. What a fool he had been.

"It is tiring," he sighed. "It really is."

The bird looked him over, its sharp eyes unblinking. "You can hide here for a bit," it suggested. "Enjoy the view. But you can't stay."

"Why not?" Cullen looked to the horizon again… it was so inviting. "Some fights you can't win."

"Not if you give up, you can't."

A ripping sound drew his attention back to the road. The bird had started plucking at its prey. Its sharp beak dug into its neck, pulling at the stringy meat. Blood seeped out onto the dusty ground, clotting in the dirt. Cullen felt slightly nauseous looking at it. A dull pain began to throb on one side of his body, radiating down from the base of his skull.

"Do you have to do that?"

It had grabbed the creature's eye, tore it from the socket, and swallowed it down. Its white speckled chest was stained with a red mist.

"Does it upset you?"

"It does… it's unpleasant."

"Life is," the bird replied, moving its wings to the avian equivalent of a shrug.

"Why?"

"Does it matter?" It tilted its head. "You want to see what comes next, don't you?"

It looked to the side and Cullen followed its gaze. There was a trail he hadn't noticed before, leading to a wooden farmhouse with a thatch roof. The grass was cut short around the front door, creating space for a large table with sturdy benches. Two children were playing outside, running through the undergrowth — a boy and a girl, the latter chasing the former.

The girl nearly bumped into her brother when he suddenly skidded to a halt. They both looked at him and waved. Cullen waved back. The sunlight shone brightly on their ashen blond heads, as bright as the smiles on their round faces. He felt a twinge of regret when a voice called to them, drawing their attention away from him. They spun around and ran to the house, where their mother was waiting in the doorway. Her hair was long and loose, flowing like liquid.

He cast one more look at the road. It was tempting, but it wasn't the way to go.

"I do," he said. "I want to see it."

"Good," the bird answered matter-of-factly. "Then you know where to go."

"Yeah." He turned his back on the horizon and took a few steps in the other direction. A shadow pulled across the fields, darkening the gold to a dull grey. "Where will you go?" he asked the bird, pausing to look over his shoulder.

"To find someone else," it stated, shaking out its feathers. "Helps me pass the time."

"Ah… Good luck with that."

"Don't let me see you back here."

It spread its wings and took to the air. Cullen watched it leave, growing smaller as it headed into the storm. The further it went, the more ominous the sky seemed to become. It churned dangerously when it disappeared from view, crackling with electricity building within. He wasn't eager to follow, even though he knew it was the right path.

Cullen didn't fear the end, that blissful walk to the endless horizon. At times, he'd even welcomed it. But today was not such a time. Today, people were waiting for him… _she_ was waiting for him. He had to — no, he wanted to get back.

Rain began to fall, growing into a relentless downpour. His clothes clung to his skin and his limbs turned to lead. He dragged one foot in front of the other, his breath burning, a dull headache flaring behind his eyes. More mud stuck to his shoes with every step, sucking him down until he was submerged to the knees, but he ploughed on through.

All the while his eyes were on the spot where the bird had vanished. At the crack in the clouds, formed by the beat of the hunter's wings, there was a brilliant white edge, like a turning page catching the light.

This storm wouldn't last forever.

o - o - o

He awoke lying face down, half submerged in a bog. His body rebelled the moment he opened his eyes, violently rejecting the water that had seeped into his lungs. He pushed himself up, pulled off his helmet, and retched as he forced himself to draw air. The back of his neck felt warm, the hairs of his cloak sticky against his skin.

The water sloshed when someone ran up to his side. "Commander!" Vivienne knelt down, assessing him with a practised eye. She too was covered in mud, her brow beaded in sweat. Concentration was carved into her face when she started her incantations. The crystal on her staff lit up at her command, heralding the relief of her spell. The pressure in his skull soon began to lessen, though the ache of his chest was slower to follow.

"What happened?" he asked her in between coughs, fighting to regain control over his shaking body.

"You got knocked into a mountain, dear," she murmured. "Hold still."

"I mean up ahead." He looked towards the temple. The doors had been breached and their men were gathering in front.

"I can only patch you up. You'll need rest —"

"Vivienne. Corypheus, he —" He relented to another coughing fit, grabbing onto his side to steady the stab between his ribs.

"… Rose from the dead," she finished for him. "Yes, we heard."

"We need to find a way to stop him," Cullen croaked. "Elsa. She ran into the temple — what happened?"

"We haven't found them yet," Vivienne explained, "but Corypheus disappeared — took his dragon and left his forces. They scattered to the wind as soon as they figured out they'd been abandoned."

"Are we in pursuit?"

"Celene's people are." She nodded to the entrance. "Many of ours are wounded, but those still standing are gathering now."

She didn't stop him when he pushed her away and scrambled to his feet. His body was too heavy for his legs and his sword arm hung uselessly by his side. He searched for his lost weapon and spotted it lying some distance away in the shrubs. He picked it up with his other hand — not his best, but there was a reason templars trained to use both.

He crossed the bridge, ignoring his surroundings. He had no patience for any of it. Cassandra and Leliana expressed their concern at his battered appearance, but he waved it away. A moment later he entered the temple, with what was left of their forces following behind.

The floor of the first courtyard had been blown apart, while two large doors stood open further in. He split up the troops, sending Rylen down to check the lower floor. The rest came with him, entering the massive hall on the other side.

Despite his haste, even he temporarily slowed his pace as they stepped inside. It was larger than any assembly hall, more imposing than any castle, purer than any chantry, and yet… something was missing. He didn't notice it at first, not with his water-logged clothes and injuries slowing him down. Yet it was as clear as the daylight filtering through the broken windows. The pressure of ancient enchantments had lifted from the area, leaving nothing but empty stone.

"The elves seem to have gone," Leliana mused quietly, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. "I'd expected them to attack us again."

"They could be up ahead," Cassandra suggested. Her hand was tense around the hilt of her sword. "Or they've been killed."

"Then where are their bodies?"

They continued to pass through unopposed, carefully shuffling their way through the empty hallways. Cullen scanned each area they entered, looking for a sign of their people — or any people at all — but there was nothing. No blood, no scorch marks, no arrows, no bolts… no bodies. Not of their own, not of the Venatori.

Their route took them outside, to a narrow garden leading to a long set of stairs. It was quiet… too quiet. The contrast was so stark from the previous pandemonium, that he briefly wondered whether his hearing had been damaged as well. His heart thumped in his chest, drowning out their footsteps, the rustling of their armour, and their apprehensive breaths. _Someone_ had to be here.

All that they found, was an empty basin in front of a broken mirror.

Vivienne hesitated on the edge of the pool, then crossed it. "The eluvian…" she murmured, running her hand along the frame. "No longer of use to Corypheus, it would appear."

"Apparently Elsa said he was looking for a well?" Leliana asked, eyeing him. "Do you think this was it?"

"So did he get it then?" Cassandra demanded, "Where is the Inquisitor?"

"Cullen? Your squad said something about a Well of Sorrows. Did you —"

Cullen didn't reply. Instead he turned around and ordered the troops to search the temple — tear it apart brick by brick if they had to. He wouldn't entertain the thought of her death, not unless he saw something to prove it. But he wouldn't rest, not as long as the possibility existed that she was somewhere in this ruin, needing him.


	59. Connections

_Cullen,_

_We're safe. The eluvian brought us back to Skyhold. We took the Well before Corypheus did. Please let me know you're okay._

_Elsa_

* * *

_Elsa,_

_Received your note. Thank the Maker you are alright. We've suffered significant losses and many more are wounded. I was injured after you went into the temple, but it is alright. I am healing well with Vivienne's attentions, so do not worry. We have started travel back to Skyhold with the Inquisition's core — the army and templars will follow once they are able to. Please, now that I know you are safe, let me know what happened in the temple and how you are doing beyond your physical health._

_Love,_ _Cullen_

* * *

Elsa sat at the desk in their chambers, his message flattened out before her and her quill idly beside it. She'd sent the raven off first thing after stumbling back into Skyhold through the mirror. Afterwards she'd sat by the window, wrapped in blankets, scanning the horizon while she waited for its return. If not for Varric keeping her company throughout, she thought she might've gone mad.

It had taken two days for the raven to return. She nearly ripped its leg off in trying to remove the message, for which she received a sharp peck on her hand. Muttering apologies to the affronted bird she opened the message and scanned for the signature. It was his. She sighed and let herself sink back unto the floor, then fell asleep.

It had been a few days since then. Varric had replied to him in her stead, telling him not to worry but that she needed rest and that she would reply as soon as she was able to. She felt bad about making him wait — of course he'd want to hear more. Unfortunately she had no idea where to begin.

She moved his note to the side, replaced it with an empty piece of paper, and picked up the quill. Taking him through it from the beginning might be best. Then again… if she wanted to be thorough, the beginning was a lot further back than he would be expecting. Instead she started at the moment they'd been parted, when his distant silhouette became obscured by dragon fire and the doors to the temple had swung shut with such a finality they might never open again.

Her heart thumped at the memory — she'd thrown herself against the stone, banging on it with her fists as she screamed his name. It had taken several attempts for the others to draw her attention back to the situation at hand. Her mind had been hazy, disoriented from the fighting, rampaging with panic at the thought he was out there with Corypheus. They knew the magister must have come back to life before, but she hadn't expected to witness it. Ever since, she hadn't slept without the scene invading her dreams. To her dismay, the horror of it drowned out any possibility for her to shape them into something else.

_Dearest Cullen,_

_You have no idea how relieved I was to receive your message. Please, promise me you'll take your time to recover and do not overburden yourself on the way back. Know that we are all well and recovering from minor injuries only. I apologise for the delay in this message. It hasn't been my intention to keep you waiting — it is simply the fact that a lot has happened that I am still making sense of myself. Let me take you through it and please do not get worried. Everything is alright, I promise._

She wondered to which extent telling him not to get worried would increase the likelihood of him becoming worried in the first place. Her quill hovered over the ink jar while she contemplated this conundrum. Leliana's report had arrived shortly after his note and mentioned the extent of their commander's injuries. Though not insignificant, considering he was left behind with Corypheus and a dragon, it could have been a lot worse. While the other advisers had made the decision they couldn't keep him from travelling back to Skyhold, it did sound like he shouldn't have any additional stress on top of that. It was unlikely she could tell him everything without causing any upset, but there was no doubt she had to get it done. So, useless as the request likely was, she decided to leave it in. It was better than nothing… and it was better than not telling him at all.

_As I said before we parted, Corypheus was looking for the Well of Sorrows. It turned out to be a pool of sorts — I imagine you saw the empty basin once you entered the temple. It held the knowledge of ancient elves, worshippers of their goddess Mythal, passed on through generations. It was Corpyheus' plan that Calpernia drink from it, so that he may learn how to walk the Fade without the Anchor, and without putting himself at risk._

She'd managed to pull herself away from the door eventually. They gave chase to the Venatori, only to nearly get blasted off their feet when they reached the inner sanctum. Elsa, mana raging and temper at its flash point, answered with a spell of her own. She called out to the Fade on instinct, sending ripples flowing outward as she reached into the beyond. The Veil was weak within these walls, the ancient magic of the elves thick like blood. Rocks and tiles, pieces of a puzzle forcefully removed from the courtyard floor, cushioned to a halt and hung suspended in the air, as if time itself had stopped moving. The Anchor flashed on her hand, answering her commands more easily than it had ever done before.

Her party continued onward, weaving their way between the debris hovering in the silence. She vaguely heard Morrigan comment on their surroundings and Solas snapping back at her in return. Most of Elsa's attention, however, was on the mark on her hand. She could feel it resonating within the atmosphere, vibrating like a dog quivering with excitement before a hunt.

Calpernia's group hadn't pushed ahead. They stood near a large hole, ready to jump down, but had frozen in place as her spell washed over the courtyard. The mage leader eyed the fragments uneasily, possibly expecting her to use them for an offence at any moment. Instead, Elsa relaxed her left hand and let go. The rocks fell to the floor in loud crashes that died quickly, swallowed up by the hushed voices whispering around them.

_Undoubtedly you were able to sense the magic in the forest. It was the most bizarre experience going through there, and the temple in particular… My magic was more responsive, more easily shaped than ever before. Solas suggests it is likely Corypheus' orb came from a similar time and place as the temple, which could make the Anchor an extension of such magic. It's a strange notion, having something like that on your arm… Though it's been there all this time, I hadn't really considered it much until now._

_Calpernia didn't attack us and was surprisingly reasonable. I showed her what our scouts found at the shrine of Dumat and she let us pass unopposed, while she stayed behind to confront Corypheus. Did you find any trace of her? I can only imagine she was killed but, despite what she's been a part of, I almost hope she got away. For someone to go through all that she has, only to be exploited by someone like him… it feels very unfair._

At least she'd avoided more bloodshed. It was a small consolation, considering what was going on outside, but it was the best she could do. She did not want to fight the former slave, nor the elves trying to keep them from progressing further into the temple. It had taken all her self-control to follow the rituals, knowing how every second was one in which Corypheus might target Cullen and his men. The best she could do was pray that the darkspawn would be too focused on stopping her and that Cullen wouldn't put himself in harm's way to buy her time. The only other thing she could do was find this blasted Well, take what was inside on the off chance it might help them, and get back out there once she did. All the while the mark radiated through her veins, harmonising with the magic curling around her legs as she walked the petitioner's path.

_We made it through the temple, avoiding further conflict with the elves. They recognised the threat Corypheus posed and allowed us to pass, though they did not initially allow us to take the Well._

_Cullen, I don't even know how to start describing it. When it was full, it was like a thousand voices were trapped underneath that shallow pool of water, clamouring for another soul to join them. It was both frightening and mesmerising. The thought that one might know everything they had to offer — the history of the elves and therefore, essentially, of our entire world… I always believed history is the best teacher for the future. However, it came at a price, namely to forever be bound to the will of Mythal._

A knock sounded on the door below. Elsa put down the quill and leaned back in the chair, her eyes quickly dashing across what she'd written so far. She wasn't doing a good enough job of explaining just how overwhelming the feeling had been, though she wasn't sure how to do it better. The mark beating with her heart, her mana stirring in resonance with the surroundings, the voices whispering in her head… They were different from spirits reaching across the Veil, different from Envy or Imshael worming their way into her mind. They were still forceful, pushing their way in unannounced, but it was more subtle. Not so much angry invaders wishing to take over, but rather more like dinner guests not observing proper etiquette and prying too deeply into the host's personal matters. She doubted this would make things much clearer to Cullen if she would explain it as such. While he no longer expressed concern when she used magic around him or when she discussed what she'd been practising with Solas, he still wasn't exactly eager on the topic. Talking of voices in her mind and magic coursing through the air like water… she doubted it would help.

She shook her head and the thoughts away with it, shed the blanket she'd had wrapped around her shoulders, and got up from her seat to stretch.

"Come in!"

The door opened and light footsteps made their way up the stairs. Dorian smiled when he saw her, then walked over to give her a brief hug.

"Are you alright?" she asked once he pulled back.

"Can I not visit you up here without raising suspicions?"

She motioned him over to the sofa, where he waited for her to sit before he did. When he did, it was with a casual lean, one arm over the backrest and his legs crossed. Though his appearance was relaxed enough, his presence up here was enough to make his question obsolete.

"You would not brave those staircases if it wasn't something important," she smirked, "and something you don't want to have overheard. Even in an empty castle."

"It is odd, isn't it?" he murmured, glancing out the window, "Didn't think I would ever be the one to say it, but it's time the others got back."

"Should be another week, at least," Elsa sighed. "Then several more until the army returns."

More than anything she wanted the keep to be full again, to hear the clatter of swords in the grounds, the chatter in the hall, and the bells signalling mass. It had all come to a grinding halt with the bulk of the Inquisition away. Though the remaining servants, workers, merchants and Chantry sisters were numerous, they were not enough to make a building this size come alive. It left far too much space, far too much silence… far too much time alone with her thoughts.

"Well, you are correct. There is something I want to discuss with you." Dorian looked to the ground, focusing on the tiles as if the words he wanted to say had been written down there somewhere. "I… don't know if this is the best time. Nothing is changing yet — I mean, I am here until Corypheus is defeated. But…"

"You're thinking of leaving?"

She wasn't particularly surprised to hear it. He'd been quiet ever since they got back, spending much of his time in the library with a stack of books on Tevinter history — history that, apparently, was largely based on misinformation and lies. Solas had mentioned the mage's attempts to apologise to him during her training. Though well-meant, it was something the elf had little patience for. She hadn't been sure what the result of these developments would be, except that one was forthcoming.

"I am," he admitted uneasily, "Again, only once Corypheus is dealt with. I've just been thinking…" Dorian got up from his seat and walked to the window. He pulled up his collar and wrapped his arms around himself against the cold, while his breath fogged up the glass. He reached for it with a sigh and drew a couple of circles in the condensation, before turning back to face her again. "I should apologise to you."

"To me?" she asked, "For leaving?"

"No. Well… maybe, but that's not what I meant. I mean for what I told you a while back, that night you had a fight with Cullen."

She frowned at him. "Why? What you said helped a lot. I was terrible to him."

"Oh, you were," he nodded, "But… I said I didn't want your advice on my family situation because you couldn't handle your own. That you were holed up here, hiding behind your position instead of dealing with them. That was overly harsh and I… apologise."

"You were right though…"

"I was… but I am still sorry."

"… You are not making a lot of sense, Dorian."

"I am not, am I?" he sighed, pressing his fingers into his forehead. "Let me start over." He sat down again. "Listen, you needed a shove in the right direction regarding your mom, but… you deserve more credit than what I gave you. Ever since you've been caught up in this mess, you've done whatever you could to make things better. I proudly declare myself to be above Tevinter's decrepit system, all the while doing nothing to change it."

"You've done a lot by being here," Elsa offered. "More than a lot of other people."

"I know I'm still amazing," he laughed, "but… I can do more. Calpernia might start a revolution, assuming she still lives, but I can use my position, my connections. If people knew what we learned at the temple, perhaps they can finally stop obsessing over our past and look to the future instead."

"They won't accept it easily."

"I know… but I need to try."

Elsa wondered if she had looked the way he did now — sad, yet full of hopeful determination — when she told her mother those same words. She smiled. It was painful to think of him, or anyone, leaving, but it had also been inevitable.

The sun was already starting to set, though it felt like it had only just risen for the day. The greens and yellows in Dorian's winter attire were painted blue in the cold light, his skin an ashy brown. There was a tension in his grey eyes, their colour not unlike her own. He was waiting for her verdict — the Inquisitor's approval. She wasn't sure at which point she'd earned such respect from him, but she was glad they'd gotten there.

"I understand, Dorian," she said, taking his hand, "Thank you for telling me."

He smiled back. "Thank you."

"Going back…" she said carefully, "Your dad will be there."

"He will be," Dorian sighed.

"What will you do about that?"

"I… don't know yet." He lightly squeezed her fingers. "If I am in a mood to be charitable, perhaps I might consider he saw what I was doing to myself. Perhaps it wasn't just about his legacy. Perhaps… he thought his plan was the only way for me to have a life in that environment, like your parents did. But I…" Thin lines creased around his eyes. His gaze darted back and forth, not finding anything to settle on. In the end he shook his head. "I don't think I will ever forgive him, but I'll need to be able to be around him. It'll be… something. That's all I am willing to consider for the moment."

He stared off into the setting sun, the weak rays illuminating the sorrow behind his faltering facade. Elsa watched him, offering a silent prayer that he would figure out what to do. She knew better now than to tell him what — it wasn't like she knew herself. "You'll be alright," was all that she said, for at least that she knew for sure.

"Thanks."

"Looking on the bright side," she mused, "At least neither of our parents is as bad as Morrigan's."

Dorian's gloom vanished in an instant, chased away by a bright spell of laughter. "Maker, no," he chuckled, "We are positively lucky in comparison." He gave her hand another squeeze and got up. "I'll stop bothering you, I'm sure you have things to do. Thanks for listening."

"Feel free to bother me later," she proposed, "I'll just finish my letter to Cullen. Afterwards I'd be happy for some company to kill the time."

"I am at your service," Dorian declared with a bow, "At least a while longer."

"Thank you… Did you talk to Bull?"

He nodded. "I did. He wants to stay with the Inquisition, as long as you have need of him. It'll be tough… but we'll work something out."

"He'll have a place with us for as long as he wants it," Elsa assured him, "I'll be happy for it. It'll be empty enough here with everyone else leaving."

"Everyone?"

"Varric will go eventually. He told me yesterday — he wants to rebuild Kirkwall."

"Ah…" Dorian said quietly, "So you've inspired another one, huh?"

"I suppose I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't make sure I have reliable contacts in the north once this is over," she said, trying her best to muster a smile. "We'll all be fine — just as soon as we've finally put a stop to Corypheus. For good this time."

"We will." He walked towards the stairs, turning back when he reached the landing. "No doubt about it."

"See you later."

The door fell shut behind him. Elsa stood still in the room, wishing Cullen was there with her now. She suppressed a shiver. Skyhold was getting nearly unbearable at this point — if she could help it, next winter she'd make sure they would be somewhere else… perhaps Tevinter. She walked back to the desk, wrapped herself in the blanket and retook her seat. With another deep breath she picked up the quill and continued to write.

_My love, I hope you will forgive what I am about to write. I was faced with a choice — a choice of who would take the power in the Well so that we may learn how to defeat Corypheus. I can't foresee how having such a power might affect a person — what they might learn from that knowledge or do with it. Dorian declined to take it, not wishing to be a human from Tevinter absorbing the last bit of elven heritage. Solas refused as well — he seemed angry I even asked, frightened almost. The only one willing to pay the price was Morrigan. The alternative was that I would do so myself._

She leaned back in the chair and let her head drop over the rest. No one had known what to do or provided her with much clarity. All the while she could hear the voices probing her, trying to lure her in. Unworthy as she felt — she, who had not even used her magic until a few months prior — she had been curious. The risk was immense, but someone had to take it. She'd almost been ready to do it… except for one concern.

Bound to serve Mythal.

After everything they'd gone through the past year, trying to break from their pasts and find a new way forward… she couldn't do it. They would finally be free, able to decide however they wanted to live. She couldn't be bound. Not to an ancient elven goddess, regardless of whether she did or did not still exist… not to anyone. It was a purely selfish decision, one that she fully expected might come back to haunt her years down the road. She hadn't wanted to be selfish, but this was not something she was willing to compromise on.

_I did not drink. I would have had the knowledge of the ages on my side against Corypheus and whatever else might follow, but I couldn't do it. Perhaps it was weak of me, but I did not want to take any chance of risking the future we have been discussing. I hope you will agree that this was the right thing to do. Morrigan appears intent on helping us fight Corypheus. After that, I do not know what she will do. Perhaps we'll encounter the consequences of my decision some day, things that might have been avoided if I had been more courageous. Should that come to pass, I pray that we will face them together, even if you did not have a choice in the matter._

It wasn't the decision itself she regretted — it was the fact that she hadn't been able to ask his opinion before she made it. Varric had told her a hundred times, while they sat waiting for the raven to return, that Cullen would choose any other option over the one in which she shared her mind with a thousand elves shouting history lessons at her. On the other hand, he was always thinking about the greater good. What was the point of it all, if Morrigan ended up being a worse threat than Corypheus? The fact that she didn't know, or rather that she couldn't provide a definitive answer on this in her letter, unnerved her deeply. Even more so at the knowledge that she wouldn't find out the answer — perhaps never, but not for many years at least.

_Corypheus found us after Morrigan drank from the Well. Something appeared to hinder his pursuit when we escaped through the eluvian. A spirit perhaps… I am not sure. I think Varric put it best — this is a lot of weird._

There were greater forces at play here, ones that she couldn't even hope to understand at present. This reality became even more apparent when she and Morrigan chased her son into the eluvian. Sharp black rocks, impossible geometry, emerald sky and rivers. They were not supposed to be there, not again… but here they were. They searched for the boy, while she scanned the surroundings for another familiar figure. The chances she was here, in this one corner of the endless nightmare, were infinitesimal, but she couldn't help it. As long as there was a chance, however small, she couldn't not look for her.

They found the boy, standing together with a figure that sent shivers down Elsa's spine. The Fade was even more dense than the temple and, somehow, she was the one commanding this part of it. She was hesitant to go closer, but Morrigan charged ahead. Yet, once she attempted to confront her mother, her spell died out with a sizzle. The witch stared at her hands, then looked hopelessly at her son. The boy looked from her to the woman beside him and back with a vacant smile… either unaware of the danger or knowing more than either of them did.

"What have you done to me?" Morrigan growled.

"I have done nothing," her mother replied. "You drank from the Well of your own volition."

However her decision not to drink from the Well might come back to her some day, Elsa was glad it did not come back to her then. Morrigan dropped her hands in surrender, as if the weight of the world had been put within them.

_We were back for a few days, when Morrigan's son went through the eluvian. We followed him, but were brought to the Fade instead of the Crossroads. Somehow, Morrigan's mother had lured Kieran there. It would appear that she is a witch of legends, who carries Mythal's spirit. After drinking from the Well, Morrigan now answers to her will — much to her dismay. She also_

She paused and bit her lip. She hadn't told Varric yet… she hadn't known how. She wasn't sure if she should tell Cullen, or anyone for that matter. If she really thought about it, there wasn't even that much to tell, and yet… it felt wrong not to.

The witch had turned her attention away from Morrigan eventually and focused on her instead. "Come closer, girl. I mean you no harm."

Elsa had cautiously stepped forward. Whatever this person was, she didn't feel that offending her was a wise thing to do.

"There you go," the witch teased, "A herald, indeed… Shouting to the heavens, harbinger of a new age. What is your name?"

"Elsa."

"Elsa… 'Maker's promise'. How very fitting."

"What should I call you?"

The woman laughed. "I have had many names. But you may call me Flemeth."

"Flemeth?" She took another step forward, forgetting her reservations, and stared at her wide-eyed. It had been weeks since Varric told her the story. It had only been a small detail… but she didn't think she was wrong in her recollection of it.

"That name seems meaningful to you, girl."

"You… did you save Hawke?"

"Hawke?"

"A woman from Ferelden, fleeing the Blight. She… you asked her to take an amulet and bring it to a Dalish clan in the Free Marches."

"Ah," Flemeth chuckled, "Yes, I liked her. Good sense of humour. So refreshing to see someone keep their end of a bargain."

"Yes…" Elsa hesitated. "She… you said something to her, before you left."

"I say many things, child, as is the habit of old women. It is up to the listener to decide what they are worth."

Elsa swallowed against the constriction in her throat. "She… was lost in the Fade," she explained, gesturing around them, "Stayed behind to save me. Is there… is there any chance —"

Flemeth took a breath that sent a thrill through the stillness. Elsa quieted, unsure of what she was asking. Whether she was alive? If it was all part of a plan? If there was something at play that would somehow make her sacrifice worthwhile?

Did any of it even really matter? If Hawke had been put on her path by an ancient elven goddess, one who went around nudging history for her own nebulous purposes… What did that mean, if it meant anything? Did it make her eventual fate any better?

"Do you not think your survival worth her sacrifice?" the witch asked her, baring her thoughts. "I do not have the answers you seek, child, but know this… Death is only a tragedy for the living. Do not cling to those who have found their destiny, not if it makes you ignore your own."

Long shadows fell over the desk as the sun made way for a thin sliver of moon. Elsa raised her hand over the candle and lit it without thinking. She stared into the flame, the quill hanging idly between her fingers. The ink dripped down slowly into the vial once she dipped it back in.

_She also granted her the power to defeat Corypheus' dragon — once it is slain, it will be possible to kill him. I will stop here, Cullen, for I fear you may already declare me raving mad for even telling you all of this. I can barely make sense of it all. There is something else I would like to discuss with you, but I'd rather do so in person._

_Take care of yourself, my love, I'll be waiting. Skyhold is empty without you._

_Love,_ _Elsa_

She rolled up the letter and lifted the candle to seal it. The blanket drifted to the ground when she got up. She put on her overcoat and left the room, down the stairs and through the empty hall. Her footsteps echoed within the walls as she climbed the stairs to the rookery. Another set, only audible because of the quietness suffocating the forlorn castle, approached her from above when she did.

Solas looked surprised to see her, but didn't pause. Instead he simply passed her by as he continued his way downstairs. Elsa kept climbing herself, only to halt a few steps higher, her hand clenching down on the scroll in her hand.

"Solas."

He turned around.

"Everything that's happened," she began, "There are things you're not telling me… aren't there?"

Solas considered her, his silence speaking volumes. "Why do you say so?"

"You disagreed with everything Morrigan said at the temple," Elsa observed, "Her self-assurance seemed to upset you."

"Well," he said with a soft laugh, "That sure seems like it will have been remedied now."

"Indeed… I was wondering why she bothered you so much. It was almost as if you felt personally offended by it. You knew about the orb, you knew about Skyhold... I just can't imagine you don't know more about all of this than you're letting on."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead he continued to observe her, in that same silently judging way he had done throughout. "You did well in the temple, Inquisitor," he said finally, "I will do anything in my power to help you defeat Corypheus — of that you can be certain."

He remained where she was until she dismissed him with a nod. She didn't expect any more clarity from him — he'd never given her any before. Perhaps that didn't matter either, at least not for the moment. For the moment, she had a letter to send.

Elsa watched the raven vanish into the dark and went downstairs. Varric was in his room, wrapped in a blanket by the fire with a book in his hand. She shed her coat and huddled under the cover with him, resting her head on his shoulder as he read the words out to her. For the moment, she didn't want to consider Old God souls or ancient elven deities pulling strings behind the scenes, possibly playing them all like marionettes for their own entertainment. For the moment, she just wanted to listen to Varric's voice, maybe play a game of cards later on and, once Cullen would return, hole up with him upstairs and wait out this stupid winter. She wanted things to be simple, even if they weren't. The second best thing, at least for a little bit, was to pretend that they were.

Cullen arrived at the end of the week. She stood on the wall since morning, waiting for the caravan to appear around the bend. Around midday, it finally did. He was on horseback, his golden hair standing out clearly among the muted greys and blacks of the hooded people around him. Elsa ran downstairs to meet them when the gate rumbled open and flung herself into his arms the moment he'd dismounted. His laughter was deep and gentle, seeping deep into her bones and warming her from her core. In his arms, Skyhold wasn't just a castle anymore. Suddenly, it was home again.

The ground shook beneath their feet. They pulled apart and looked at each other. A green haze washed out his features, darkening his eyes and the red of his coat to a sullied brown. Through the gate, above the distant mountains, they saw the sky open once again, throwing them back into the past. Emerald bolts rained down into the snow and the clouds turned a churning black.

"Corypheus." Cullen stared into the distance, his hands tensing on her waist. "He's taunting you."

"I… need to go," she whispered, "He's going to tear everything apart."

"I'm going with you."

"Cullen, you were injured —"

He shook is head. "I'm fine, and I am not doing this again. I will not send you off and stay here, not knowing what is happening to you. We go together."

There was no arguing with the resolve in his expression, nor did she want to. "Equals?" she asked.

"Equals… Let's finish this."


	60. Unity

They rode — out the gate and over the bridge, through the mountain passes and across the clifftops. Elsa lay low on her slender mare's neck, spurring her on with every stride. Though the poor thing had only just arrived back from the Arbor Wilds, she snorted bravely in response to her rider's commands. Snow billowed in their wake like smoke from a chimney, obscuring the view of Ferelden to the east and Orlais to the west.

The coat of Cullen's mount shone green beside her. Every beat of her hooves was accompanied by a loud breath that formed puffs of steam in the frosty air. His face was a mask of concentration as he leaned forward in the saddle, giving the black mare free reign to find her way across the rocky slopes. On Elsa's other side, Varric's pony navigated the rocks like a mountain goat, its stout legs working hard to keep up with the other two.

Behind them followed anyone in Skyhold able to wield a weapon, forming a long line across the narrow peaks. The group sped along as fast as their mounts could carry them, all their attention focused on the thundering chasm in the sky. The road there had taken them days on foot, with elders, children and wounded, battling hunger and fatigue — now, they ran it in hours at breakneck speed to keep the world from ending.

The Valley of Sacred Ashes lay before them, though it had long stopped being the sanctuary it once was. Lyrium pulsed in large shards sticking from the ground and ruins littered the snow. Haven's buildings had been washed away by the avalanche — little more remained of them than broken beams of wood piercing through the white blanket. The chantry, identifiable only by the pointed roof sticking defiantly up from the glacial mass, had largely collapsed under the weight of the compacted ice.

The sun hung low, chased away by the onset of the night, when Elsa pulled her mare to a halt in the valley. The mountain was coming apart, raining snow down upon them as shards pulled themselves loose and took to the air. Large chunks of rock were ripped from their bed, baring the roots of trees and other vegetation. The peak disintegrated before them, groaning as watchtowers crumbled and wildlife was torn from their homes. Flocks of birds took flight with panicked cries and a nest of nugs scrambled for footing when their nest broke in half.

"What in the Void…"

"We need to get up there," Cullen said, rapidly assessing the fragments above.

"There." Elsa nodded to a path. It was comprised of shaking stretches of floating rock, but it weaved upwards. Treacherous, but purposeful. "He wants us to reach him."

"Let's give him what he wants then." Varric dismounted his pony and sent it off with a slap on its rump. "And make him regret it."

Broken steps guided them up — like they had done months before when they were still whole, and she'd walked from Haven to the temple in anticipation of the conclave. Never, in a thousand years, could she have pictured the events that ascending those steps would set in motion. Yet after everything that had happened, it seemed only fitting that she would climb them again today.

The stairs opened up to a clearing, where a battered archway stood starkly silhouetted against the tainted sky. A statue of Andraste lay at an angle against it, her face damaged with one eye staring hollow at the floor. A year ago Elsa had knelt atop that wall and first noticed the man now standing beside her, when neither of them had known each other's name. She looked to Cullen, his darkened shapes framed in red and green. There were no clouds behind his eyes, no clenching of his jaw, no poorly masked pain — all she saw was a ruthless determination to end the creature that threatened to destroy his hard-earned freedom. He glanced over and smiled when he noticed her watching. She returned it, steeled by his resolve and the strength of the people lining up behind them.

Corypheus was waiting, the orb suspended above his hand. It revolved around itself, crackling and swirling with static energy. Despite her layers of felt and armour, Elsa felt the hairs on her arms rise. The darkspawn's scarred mouth was pulled in an eternal sneer that bared his rotten teeth. The red light flickered in the crazed eyes that lay loose in their sockets and cast shadows across his distorted body. All his attention was focused on her alone and the mark that pulsed on her hand.

A looming shadow moved through the crimson haze and crawled unto the wall. The dragon let out a low hiss, it's heavy maul twisted into a snarl that mimicked its master's. It blinked one red, glowing eye. Its other had withered away — a gaping hole, skewered by the remains of an arrow sticking up from the socket. The creature locked its gaze onto her, recognising the person who had damaged it, and prepared to leap.

The last time she'd faced them directly she'd been dragged through the dirt and snow, only to tremble in fear until a single flash of instinct saved her life. Today she lifted her chin in defiance and stared them down. The barriers flashed up at her will, one by one in quick succession around each of her companions, beacons in the night signalling the coming of a new dawn.

"I knew you would come," Corypheus snarled.

She didn't bother to reply. Instead she checked on their people taking up formations. Bull had his axe at the ready, a bashful smirk on his face and his eyes fixed on the dragon. Dorian stood closely behind him, his hand manipulating the Veil to anticipate his first spell. The others lined up in two more units, led by the former Hands of the Divine. Behind them, smaller than Corypheus' but no less menacing, Morrigan morphed into her new dragon form. Violet scales shimmered in the fading daylight when she raised her head and howled a piercing roar.

Varric glanced up at Elsa with his most charming smirk. "Done it before," he shrugged, "What's one more time?"

"For Hawke," Cullen stated, unsheathing his sword.

The dwarf nodded. "For Hawke."

Elsa smirked when she refocused on their enemy. The magister looked furious she had the gall to ignore him. _How predictable._ She took her bow from her back and pulled an arrow from her quiver. She lifted the weapon — Varric's crossbow clicked, shields were raised, and mana surged around them. Her fingers brushed against her chin as she looked down the arrow's shaft, her vision blurring at the edges as she honed in on her target.

"For all of us."

The arrow flashed through the air. It was instantly followed by more, as well as flaming energy charges, forks of electricity, and crackling veilfire. The warriors raised their weapons and charged in to meet the demons clawing up from the ground. Rogues vanished in thin air, materialising behind their targets. A purple blur crashed into the dragon with a feral snarl before it could move. A clash of claws and teeth struggled for dominance overhead when the dragons met in mid-flight, their tails cutting across the skirmish that broke out below. Corypheus rose his hands in an angry roar, causing the shaking island to rush higher up into the air, the twisted song of lyrium growing louder as the world shrank below them.

Cullen took point, like he had done since Ferelden. He pushed forward relentlessly, not allowing their enemy an inch of space for recovery. Bull wreaked complete havoc around him, leaping and bounding onto his targets like a murderous lamb in springtime. Elsa stood side by side with Dorian, Varric between them, alternating their barriers while her arrows struck attacking limbs and crippled stumbling enemies, leaving them open for deadly counter blows. Every so often Cullen looked back, checked their status, then signalled his next target with a nod. Whenever he moved up, they pushed in after him, not allowing a single break to form in their ranks. A well-oiled machine — an army of five, working as one.

Corypheus flitted in and out of existence, vanishing in thin air whenever his own barriers were broken down by the barrage of spells and steel crashing down upon him. Each time he disappeared they found him higher up the cliffs, deeper into the broken ruins, while the edges of the platform kept crumbling around them.

A host of demons awaited them on the next clearing, leaping forward the moment they rounded the bend. Cullen caught one on his shield, while two others rushed the Iron Bull. They threw themselves against the Qunari, clawing and scratching, and pushed him to the ground. Bull grabbed one of the creatures in each of his massive fists, their nails ripping his skin as he tore them off him, and threw them away with force. They slammed into a decrepit wall with sickening crashes, then lay dazed as it collapsed and buried them beneath the rubble.

Elsa ran towards him, overcharging Cullen's barrier to give him space within the ambush, and knelt down beside the Qunari. "Hold still," she murmured, putting down her bow to place her hands over the gashes on his shoulder.

"I'm good, Boss," Bull assured her. "Gonna take more than that to bring me down."

"I'd rather —"

The dragons screeched overhead. Morrigan flew upwards, heading straight into the emerald storm. The red lyrium beast followed her, the Breach casting ungodly rays through its ragged wings. A hush fell over the battle as the pair shrank into the distance and vanished in the blinding light. Elsa raised a hand above her eyes, squinting to keep them in view. The shapes tussled and turned, indistinguishable from one another. They hung beneath the Breach for a long moment of stillness, their shadows but a speck on the ground. Next, the darkness spread like wine on a tablecloth, growing larger and larger until even the Breach itself was blocked from view by the writhing shapes plummeting towards them.

Bull grabbed his axe and slammed it into the ground. "Heads up!"

The dragons crashed into the side of the isle. Morrigan disappeared from view, while the lyrium dragon scrambled to hold on to the edge. Its claws dug themselves in, tearing deep grooves into the rock as it tried to pull itself up. The landmass dipped low on one side under its weight, tilting the floor. Elsa watched their people slide down the slope, quickly reaching for something to grab onto. Cullen found footing against a broken bit of wall, Dorian and Varric steadied each other as the latter whipped out his grappling hook and latched it onto a tree. Elsa braced herself, feeling her feet starting to slip, until Bull's hand closed around her arm while he held onto his weapon sticking into the ground.

The dragon clawed its way onto the platform, rocking it back and forth with wild swings. Its wings were ripped to shreds, leaving it stranded on the ground with them. The Inquisition charged in, daggers and swords flashing, spells surging. The beast's tail swept low and it struck out with its claws, trying to crush the warriors besieging it. It jumped out of the way when Cassandra hit its already bleeding leg, nearly flattening Solas and Cole on its other side. The dragon roared at the Seeker, spitting acid across the ground. She fell back to avoid the sizzling puddles and joined up with Cullen. The two exchanged some brief words, then split up to attack it from either side while the others formed up with them.

Elsa quickly murmured an enchantment to seal Bull's wounds and grabbed a lyrium potion from her pouch. She downed it while he flexed his arm, testing her work. "Good as new," he declared.

"You're welcome," she said, picking up her bow, "Wouldn't want you to be out of shape for a dragon now, would we?"

"No, ma'am," he grinned. He wrenched his weapon from the ground and charged ahead, her barrier flickering to life across his skin before he'd reached their target.

The dragon moved like any other cornered animal — a bear set upon by hunting dogs nipping at its heels, struggling for its life. Elsa saved her shrinking supply of arrows and instead focused on anticipating the incoming blows to the warriors around their thrashing prey. Cullen and Cassandra took turns drawing its ire, falling back and advancing like the tide. Ice formed around the creature's legs, rooting it in place. It stumbled, scratched its way back up, and fell again.

Bull leapt up from the scuffle of demons and scales, his axe raised above his head. Elsa followed his path with her hand, warping the quaking Veil to boost his strength. He hollered a war cry at the apex of his jump and brought the weapon down in a graceful arc. Steel cleaved scales and skin, nearly severing the dragon's head from its spine. The creature sputtered, legs flailing and tail swishing, destroying the crumbling ruins as it flailed helplessly on the ground. The light vanished from its one eye, forming into a swirling ball of energy that disappeared into the remains of the temple above.

Cullen had taken off his helmet and wiped his brow. He straightened himself up at her approach, but wavered for a brief moment — imperceptible to most, but not for someone who'd gotten as familiar with how he moved as she had.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine."

"Cullen…"

He sighed and flexed his fingers, then rolled his shoulder. "My sword arm got injured at the temple. It's alright… I'm just tired."

"Give it here."

A green bolt of lighting struck down from the Breach and hammered into the ground. It cracked like a whip, sending a tremor through the stone. The shudders grew as the rock cracked, splitting apart from the point of impact. One of the crevices ran straight for them, rapidly pulling apart the pieces and giving view of the distant ground below, where their horses were mere dots in the snow.

Cullen's helmet clattered on the ground. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, chasing higher ground on the disintegrating mountain. Three sets of footsteps fell in line behind them, tripping on the faltering foundation. Elsa's veins burned green when she flexed her left hand. The Anchor flashed, stabilising the path ahead long enough for them to run across. They jumped when the ground collapsed beneath their feet and landed heavily on the final piece of rock ascending further up into the Breach.

"This is insane," Elsa cried over the roaring storm. The Veil buckled the closer they got, tearing at the fabric of the world. "Corypheus will kill himself like this as well."

"What made you think he is anywhere on the spectrum of sane, Sterling?"

"Indeed," Dorian quipped. "He would rather appear to be quite the antithesis to the concept of sanity."

"He's got nothing left," Cullen shouted back, "All he cares about is forcing his will now."

"The others…"

"We have to go on without them," Dorian stated, swaying on his feet as the winds tugged on his cloak. "Corypheus can't have much fight left in him."

Elsa swallowed and tore her gaze away from the others disappearing from view as the segments they'd been stranded on drifted away. "Your arm?" she asked Cullen.

"I'll manage. Save your strength."

"Alright… let's go."

The higher they climbed, the weaker the Veil became. At times Elsa could swear she saw emerald waters, black spikes, shimmering fogs, lingering just beyond their own reality. The Anchor pulsed violently, tugging her forward to the flaming chasm over their heads. It called out like a hungry glutton, wishing to swallow the entire world whole.

She'd been down on the ground the last time she'd tried to close it. Not only had she been far away, she'd suppressed any ounce of magic she had inside of her, locked her mana away in the recesses of her mind. Now it blended together freely with what bled into their world from the other side, pulsing from the deepest place in her body to the electricity dancing in her hair.

She was afraid — afraid for the lives of her friends and everyone else who depended on them. Afraid for her own life and that of Cullen, and everything they would miss if they should fail in this fight. Yet what she wasn't afraid of, was the power coursing through her veins with every beat of her heart. What she had once considered a curse now gave her the confidence to face even the most dangerous threats. She still did not think herself blessed by Andraste. Likely, she never would. But what she did know was that they would vanquish a great evil today and — for better or worse — it was her magic that helped her do so.

Corypheus stood alone on the floor of what had once been a circular chamber, surrounded by the remnants of a ravaged tower. He was manipulating the elven orb, though the twisted expression on his face betrayed the true state of his mind. He was vulnerable without his dragon, weakened by their assault. The relic pulsed like a heart, spinning more uncontrollably with each inch that the Breach grew. Much as the darkspawn tried, his broken body — littered with bolts, arrows, cuts and burns — could no longer contain the power he sought to control. Instead it continued to tear at the Veil, searching for the Anchor that it had once helped create.

Her party hid behind the torn walls and decided their strategy. Elsa gestured for the two warriors to close in around him, Dorian to take position on the broken dais off to the side. Varric cocked his crossbow and nodded — _I'm sticking with you._ She smiled in gratitude and they exchanged one more look between them all. The warriors and mage disappeared round the sides while she stepped out from hiding, the dwarf closely following by her side.

The setting sun broke through the dark clouds behind the darkspawn. He stood hunched over, struggling with the orb like it was an angry nug trying to escape his grasp. He glared at her with crazed eyes at her approach, desperation manifesting within. She could feel the crumbling Veil's energy coalesce as he gathered his strength, bending it to his will in a last ditch effort to fight them even as it tore the world apart around them.

"It does not end here!" he snarled. He raised his hand, thrusting the orb into the air. Long swirls of energy whipped around, forking down to frame him like an unholy wedding arch. "I will bind you, as I have bound so many before!"

His presence wormed his way into her thoughts, probing her memories in search of a weakness he could exploit. The mountain darkened around her, blurring at the edges and fading Varric's presence beside her. Her labyrinth shuddered under the unfamiliar intruder banging on the doors, yet she didn't run to close them. Instead she threw them wide open, allowing every experience she carried with her to rise to her defence. Her mana roared, erupting into searing flames that spread across the criss-crossing steps. The fire burned the weed from the crevices and corners it was trying to root itself in, and spilled over unto her palms.

"Now!"

She directed the streaming flames towards the darkspawn as the warriors closed in on him from both sides under the cover of Dorian's spells. Varric's bolts passed through the flaming barrier, leaving searing burns where they pierced his chest. Bull charged him from behind, lodging his weapon deep into the magister's shoulder, while Cullen rushed in from the front. He dodged her spell with practised movements, before slicing open its stomach with an upwards slash of his blade.

The creature roared in anger and stumbled backwards, clutching his gut with his injured arm. Elsa relented her attack and walked forward, reaching for the orb. The Anchor pulsed in recognition of it, pulling on it as if attached by a tether. Inch by inch it slipped from the darkspawn's grasp. His eyes twitched from it, to her, and back, horror dawning upon him as he realised what was happening.

WIth his last energy he summoned a deafening blast. The charge of red lightning cut straight through their shields, sending both warriors hurtling through the air and knocking the others off their feet. Elsa twisted the Veil with the Anchor and remained the only one standing. She continued her advance into the searing heat, her gaze fixated on the sundering sphere. The voices thundered in her ears, the Veil tore on her soul, and the mark on her hand burned itself into her skin, until the orb tore itself from the darkspawn's grasp with a snap.

It sped towards her, like a dog running to its master, and came to hover above her outstretched palm. She lifted it above her head, sending a pulse through the Breach. Her body became the catalyst, her mana the remedy — little by little, the tear in the Veil began to heal, softening the voices and clearing the air. The darkspawn slumped to the ground as the orb dropped from her hand and broke in two, its power forever beyond its reach.

"It's over," she breathed. "You're done, Corypheus."

He looked to his hands, his gnarled shoulders hanging low in defeat. Elsa stepped forward, taking an arrow from her quiver. The tip flashed with a white-hot flame, crackling in anticipation as she laid it against the rest. The world slowed down around her as she straightened her spine and lifted the bow. She stared through the fire at the crumpled monster sitting on the ground, the thin line grazing her cheek as she tightened the string.

The arrow pierced the darkspawn through the head, engulfing it in a fiery blaze. Her mana pulsed like a drum, forming the beat to the song singing his defeat. The creature curled in on itself, light bursting through its skin as it came apart at the seams, flames flickering behind the gaping holes that were its eyes and mouth. She raised her hand and closed her fist, forcing the last of the life from the decrepit body, until nothing was left beyond a smouldering heap of charred remains.

Silence reigned for a few long seconds while she stood victorious, breathing heavily and willing her body to remain upright, until the remnants of the temple came crashing down around her. She turned to see Dorian running up to Bull, who had been knocked into a wall down the field. The mage only barely reached him before the plaza started to come apart. Varric wasn't far from them and jumped back when a crack appeared beside his feet. He looked to her, his expression a mix of relief and concern — they weren't out of the woods yet.

She turned around, fully expecting Cullen to come running up to her at any moment. They had to get together, shield themselves from the debris falling down around them. The island shook beneath her as it began to drop towards the ground.

He wasn't there. No blond hair, no red coat, no lights flickering in his armour. She searched the quaking platform, for a moment not understanding where he could be. He'd been right there, until Corypheus' final attack had knocked them down. The stretch of rock was only so large — where else could he be?

A faint sheen glinted in the twilight near the edge of the crumbling rock. She took a step towards it, then another. As if unwilling to accept what her eyes were seeing, her thoughts were slow to recognise the object that lay there, shrouded in the half dark. Her feet began to run as her bow dropped from her hand. His bloodstained sword shone dimly in the moonlight while her voice called out his name, her every being latched on to the faintest hope that he could still hear her.


	61. His Mage

_Where am I?_

Elsa lay in the dark, unsure of where she was or how she got there. It had been a while since that happened… she doubted it was a sensation she'd ever grow used to. Her senses stretched out around her, trying to assess her surroundings. The ground underneath was cold and wet, soaking her clothes. The world was quiet, though something told her it shouldn't be. There wasn't a sound — not the hush of a breeze, nor the tweet of a bird, or the trickle of water. No animals, no voices… no fighting. Nothing. There was only the cold, and the peaceful calm that hung over it.

She directed her attention inward, to the sensations of her own body. It felt tired and bruised, heavy on the ground and yet empty. Her mana was gone, drained to the last drop. The mark pulsed slowly on her left hand. She could easily picture it reflecting on the damp, rocky surface that was pressing its grooves into her cheek. If she opened her eyes she could see whether she was right, but she didn't want to. Though it was clearly dark, there was light overhead. Even if faint, she felt fairly certain it would make the throb in her head flair much worse if she let it in.

Eventually she decided it wasn't wise to stay where she was much longer. As predicted, her head began to pound as soon as she lifted it. She groaned and lifted her hand to her temple. The calming current flowed freely to soothe it, but died out quickly for a lack of fuel. It wasn't often her magic was this depleted… she wondered why she'd let it happen this time. She opened her eyes to see the night sky above her — a deep indigo with twinkling stars. Their light shimmered in the snow, sparkling like millions of tiny gems set upon a pristine blanket. Woven between them, a jagged line cut across the sky, shining with lights of purple and blue.

She sat up and looked around. Pieces of rock and temple lay around her like islands in a sea of foam, forming a trail down the mountainside to the valley below. Shapes were moving in various places on the slope. Elsa smiled to herself as the silhouette of a horned figure rose up halfway down, helping another to his feet. Not far away from them the burly shape of a dwarf popped out of the snow, like he'd been birthed from the mountain itself, and shook the flecks from his hair.

Her expression faltered as she continued to watch. One by one the silhouettes of the Inquisition came into view, stumbling up from where they had landed in the hills… All except one.

Realisation hit her with a jolt, cracking through her head like lighting. Broken body, metal dull and cloak fluttering, spread unto a broken shard pelting towards the ground. She jumped, fell, reached for him, barrier flashing before they'd crashed into the surface. A thundering roar of the howling wind and the crumbling world ended in silence when she hit her head — her last thought dedicated to keeping the shield alive with what remained of her mana.

She scrambled up and searched, panic rising in her chest another time too many. Half broken walls, bent candlesticks, pieces of a mountain, ripped up trees, torn apart statues, shattered doors… She walked between them, dragging her exhausted feet through the heaping snow, her eyes flitting through the wreckage. The thought of him had guided her up the mountain once before — she hadn't ever hoped to repeat it.

A glint draw her attention further uphill, flickering faintly like a candle about to burn out. The dancing lights shimmered from the scar in the sky, reflecting in his battered plating. He lay on his back atop a broken segment of the temple's floor, his pale skin alight in the moon's glow. She clambered up, her fingers slipping on the sticky substance staining the broken tiles. Her fingers left dark streaks on his face when she reached for it. One side of his breastplate had been bashed in and broken, his lips were stained red.

"Maker's breath," she whispered, "Cullen… Cullen, can you hear me?"

His chest convulsed with a harrowing cough. She moved to undo his armour, but he grabbed her hand. His brow drew low in a pained frown as he turned his head towards her and opened his eyes.

"Elsa…"

"I need to look at you," she muttered, pulling her hands free. "Don't talk."

"No," he croaked, "Listen… to me."

"I swear to the Maker, Cullen, if you are planning to say anything even _remotely_ resembling a farewell, stop it this instant. Shut up and let me do this."

She grabbed the knife from his belt, slashed the straps of his plating, and tossed it aside. It clattered loudly as it slid down the rock and landed in the snow below with a soft thud. She continued to make short work of his doublet, carefully slicing the seams with the tip of the blade. Once she peeled the pieces away from his skin, the extent of his injuries became more apparent. Deep purple bruising and burst vessels lined one side of his torso, spreading through his skin like tendrils grasping at his heart. His crushed plating had bashed into his ribs, possibly fracturing them. He took short, raspy breaths, each of which seemed to cost him more energy than the last. His skin was slowly growing whiter, even turning a hint of blue.

"Do you have chest pain? Trouble breathing?"

"Yes… and yes."

"I think you have a punctured lung."

"Elsa, it's alright. Please, just —"

"Hush."

Elsa ripped her pouch from her belt and emptied its contents onto the floor. She pushed her hand under his head to lift it. "Open." Cullen opened his mouth a fraction, enough for her to pour what she had left in healing potions into it. He hissed in pain as she gently lowered him back down. The corks came off the other vials with gentle pops and she downed them one after another.

"Careful… don't overdo it."

The lyrium spread through her veins like wildfire, setting alight her senses. "Do you doubt my abilities, Ser Knight?" she teased him, trying to distract them both from his blood seeping between the broken tiles. "I am offended."

"I wouldn't dare, My Lady," he laughed weakly. His lashes, heavy with ice, fluttered and his eyes fell closed.

"Hey, hey, don't you do that," she muttered, patting the side of his face. "Stay with me, alright? Let's… let's play the question game, okay? I'll go first."

He looked back up at her, though it took him a moment to find his focus. Red veins bled into the white of his eyes, reaching for the gold. "Cheater," he mumbled, "You… asked me a couple of questions just now."

Elsa laughed feverishly as she traced his abdomen, feeling the familiar shapes of his body. "Fine," she conceded, "You think of a question then — just don't fall asleep."

He winced as she placed her hands over the centre of the contusion. She gathered her energy, ignoring her fatigue and letting the lyrium do its work in rallying her mana. It rose to its feet and came towards her in the darkness, sensing her intent.

Beneath her fingers, Cullen's breath hitched… and his eyes fell shut once more.

"Come on, ask me a question."

Prayer and spell blended together as she concentrated on his form — picturing the layers of his scarred skin that covered his ribs, the indents of which she'd counted at times that she let her hands glide across them in her embrace. Underneath the strength of his frame, his breath that raised her up when she rested her head on his chest. Even deeper, nestled between his lungs, his heart beating steadily, never wavering in its convictions or ever falling to corruption. It was that on which she focused, that gentle beat that had become the rhythm of her life — her compass when she felt lost, her sanctuary when the world provided none.

"Cullen — stay with me."

Spirits gathered on the other side, guiding her along as her power began to emanate from her core and flow into his, like a river spilling from the mountain and finding its way to the sea. Twisted cells were reformed, broken bones knit together, blood pulled back inside its vessels… Gentle yet relentless, the essence of her life syncing with his, her magic pushed into place what didn't belong and rejuvenated that which had been damaged.

Over time, her mana lost whatever form it had taken, dissipating into the void with her draining energy. Her breath grew laboured and sweat beaded her brow. It rolled down her temple and stung in her eyes, but she refused to lift her hands away from him. She would use every last drop of lyrium, every ounce of her strength, even if it meant she would never cast another spell. Her throat felt dry and her own bruises began to flare up in protest. Her vision burned in the blue light that enveloped them — burning brighter than even Andraste's holy flame.

Much as she tried, the light died down eventually. Dark spots danced in her view as she took several deep breaths to gather herself. Her hands felt about blindly, trying to assess the result. The swelling had gone down and the blood had stopped pooling under his back. Her heart beat rapidly as she let her fingers glide up to his chest, blinking profusely to clear her vision… then came to a shuddering halt.

He'd stopped breathing.

Elsa stared at him, her eyes flitting between his closed ones. She reached for his face, feeling his stubble graze her shaking fingers, and held it between her hands.

"No," she whispered, "No, no, no… Cullen."

She dragged herself closer, curling up against his chest. His forehead was cold when she pressed hers against it, whispering his name as her tears fell unto his face. Whatever power she had left inside of her, she implored it to help her out. Whatever beings were watching over them, she asked for mercy. Maker and his bride, Evanuris, or whatever lingered in the Deep Roads or the Fade, she didn't care — as long as one of them was willing to heed her desperate plea.

His eyes flashed open with a start. His breath was harrowed, grating in his throat like a scorching desert wind. She scrambled back to give him space when he clutched at his chest, gasping for air with shaking lungs.

Bit by bit, his breathing deepened, slowing down with each long second that she stared at him in disbelief. His free hand grasped around him at the ground, searching. She crawled back towards him and grabbed it, at which his fingers grasped onto hers with all their force.

"Cullen," she cried, "Calm, love, calm. It's okay… you're okay. Everything is okay."

The panic dissipated from his face when his eyes found hers. He drew another full breath and let go of his chest. His hand reached for her face and wiped away the tears, then slid into her hair.

"It's all okay." Her voice was quivering, her body trembling like a reed. "Thank the Maker… everything will be okay."

His mouth moved, but made little sound. With effort she stifled her own sobs and leaned in.

"What?"

"... I thought of a question."

His eyes, though only half open, were no longer stained red. A mischievous twinkle shone within them, as if he'd just outwitted her in a game of cards.

"Did you?" she laughed weakly, stroking away the curls sticking to his forehead. "I think that can wait, no? We should get you home."

He shook his head. His hand pushed in deeper behind her head and pulled her towards him. The words came slowly, spoken in a broken voice and with quivering breath, though with the utmost conviction. She raised herself up a fraction to look at him and lifted his hand to her mouth to kiss his fingers.

"Are you sure? That's a big question."

Cullen chuckled quietly. "You get doubles afterwards."

"Oh, triples at least… A lifetime of questions, really."

"Not very ladylike, you know," he argued hoarsely, "Keeping a knight waiting."

She took his face in her hand and kissed him. It was short, a careful brush rather than an impassioned embrace. It would come later — they had all the time in the world now.

"You're not asking a lady," she teased him, "You're asking a mage."

"Heh," Cullen huffed, "No reason you can't be both."

"Two of your favourite things — aren't you lucky?"

"I am…" His lips curved with a gentle smile that tugged on his scar. "To find my one favourite thing."

o - o - o

Though the valley would never be the same again, a few weeks later nature had already begun to reclaim it. The snow started to melt, awakening the shoots of grass that had been slumbering underneath. The sun lazily climbed into the sky, taking its time to reach a little higher with every passing day.

At long last, the weather improved enough for the balcony door to remain slightly open.. A gentle breeze blew in from the east, carrying in the smells of the kitchen and the clatter of swords rising up from the training grounds. Elsa looked up from the desk when a noticeable thud broke the regular rhythm of strikes and parries, followed by a string of applause. She smiled to herself, picturing Bull destroying another training dummy to the amusement of the crowd — one person making the most out of Rylen's more relaxed supervision style over that of his commander.

Over in the bed, another person had silently been paying attention to the activity below as well. He groaned softly and raised a hand to his head. "Has the army turned into a complete circus yet?"

"Not quite," Elsa laughed, "Though Varric has a bet running on how long it will take for the entire supply of training swords to go missing."

"It's not a vacation just because I'm up here," Cullen sighed, mildly exasperated, "There is still a lot to do."

She put down her quill and got up from her seat. "Everyone is aware of that," she said reassuringly as she walked over to the bed. "Nothing wrong with having a bit of fun though, right?"

He smiled when he saw her and reached for her hand. She sat down beside him, letting her eyes drift over him in practised fashion. His skin had cleared up, regaining its usual sunny undertones. Although the bruising extending up to his chest was still visible, peaking out from underneath the blanket, it was fading steadily as well.

"Sleep alright?"

"Yeah." He looked out the window. "Long too, huh?"

"A while. Seems like you needed it." She nodded to his chest. "Let me have a look."

Cullen pushed back the covers to allow her their usual checkup. She traced his familiar shapes with her fingers, whispering additional enchantments. Healing spells could do little at this point. Instead she conjured a steady current, a rejuvenating flow that aided his body in its own recovery. Though he'd grown restless over the past month, frustrated at being largely contained to their room while life continued below them, he closed his eyes while she worked on him and sighed deeply as he let the feeling wash over him.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked.

"Are you judging me?"

"That's part of my job."

He chuckled warmly and looked back up as she lifted her hands. "It feels nice," he said with a mild shrug. "Judge me all you want."

"How's the rest feeling?"

"A bit sore still." He grimaced as he pushed himself up to a sitting position, then took a few deep breaths to recover from the minor movement. "Maybe more than a bit."

"It'll take time," she soothed him, pushing back his hair. "Don't rush it."

"I know," he sighed, "I'm just not used to lying around so much, or… maybe to someone taking care of me." His eyes shifted away a moment and he scratched his neck. "I mean, it's… really nice. Just also a little uncomfortable at times."

She crawled unto the bed and snuggled beside him with her legs draped over his lap. He pulled the blanket over them and put his arms around her, drawing her as close as he could without straining his injured side.

"Didn't you ever get sick while you were with the templars?"

"I… caught a cold once or twice. Was in bed for a few days — not this long."

"Did someone take care of you when that happened?"

He shook his head. "Not really. The recruits looked out for each other, but they had their own duties. Someone would bring me food or medicine… mainly you were just in the barracks by yourself."

"Would you be more comfortable if I put you in ours?" Elsa smirked.

"No," he murmured, gently bumping his nose against hers, "I think I'll stay put."

"Good… Do you want to get up?"

"Yeah, in a bit."

They sat a while longer, listening to the sounds from the courtyard. The bells rang to signal midday, and the start of lunch. Wood clattered against metal as the training swords got tossed back unto the supply. Chatter rose up while the soldiers gathered their belongings, then died down as they filed into the mess hall. Soon enough everything outside turned quiet, save for the faint whistle of the wind rustling the papers on the desk.

Cullen decided to get up shortly after, with the declaration he'd like to brave the stairs later to have dinner in the tavern. Elsa threw him a sceptical look, but agreed to let him try. Likely they'd make it to the first landing before he would realise he'd have to climb the same distance later on. Bull had offered to carry him back, like he had done when they first brought him home, but so far Cullen had declined. She couldn't blame him — even with the best intentions, it wasn't the most dignified position to be in. Instead he would turn around, each time after a few steps more than he managed in his last attempt, and stay upstairs for another day.

Elsa would then send word down to the tavern to bring the food up — which was already waiting and ready in anticipation of her call — and the others would join them in their room instead. A large table had been added to the interior for such occasions. Today it still housed a number of empty mugs and discarded hands of cards from the night before. As long as everyone was still here, she tried to organise such gatherings as often as she could. Soon enough, everyone would go their own way. Once they did, Cullen might occasionally wish that he was still recovering — it was one of the primary excuses the others used for putting their own plans on hold.

She helped him sit on the edge of the bed and handed him one of his shirts from the cupboard. He caught her hand when she moved away to give him some privacy, pulling her back towards him instead.

"Thank you," he said quietly, lightly squeezing her fingers.

Elsa leaned in and kissed him, then left him to his own devices.

The first days had been tough, sitting by his side at all hours, closely monitoring his condition. Vivienne and Dorian had taken her place whenever she had to catch a few hours of rest — despite both of them telling her he was going to be fine, she'd continued to wake up after the bare minimum to resume her watch.

It had gotten better with a week or so, where he would start to be awake for longer stretches at a time and soon began to resist assistance with smaller things. They'd grown a little irritable with each other at times, when she felt it would be faster if he just let her help, or when he felt cooped up or curtailed. Fortunately they'd navigated their way through it but, much as she liked being there for him, she was also happy he was becoming more self-sufficient again — it was better for both of them.

She opened the balcony doors, enjoying the fact that she could do so again without freezing instantly. It was far from warm in Skyhold yet, as it would never be, but spring was not far off anymore. The air was fresh in her lungs, cool in her head. She took a deep breath and leaned on the banister, feeling at peace as she looked out over the snowy peaks.

Cullen came to stand behind her. He wore his cloak around his neck and draped the ends of it over her shoulders as well. She leaned into him slightly, letting her head fall backwards. Though she didn't yet put her full weight on him, his arms nonetheless wrapped themselves in their comfortable position around her waist — warm and sturdy, supporting her like he had done since it all began.

His hands found hers and he angled one of them up, studying their interlaced fingers. "I should get you a ring… shouldn't I?"

"I suppose so," she murmured, "No rush though."

"You… do want it right?" he asked. "I mean… I asked you at a strange time. I don't want you to feel pressured."

"Yes, love, I want to," she assured him, "but know that the moment we make it public, Josephine will talk of nothing else. You thought planning our dresses for the Empress' ball was bad — wait until you get us started on a wedding."

"Thanks for the warning," he laughed, "Are you trying to make me change my mind?"

"Absolutely not. But we don't need to hurry… right?" She gave him a sideways look as she stroked her hair behind her ear. "I want to be with you — every plan I am making now is based on that. Getting married… it's just one of those plans. Is… that okay?"

He smiled warmly, his amber eyes shimmering with a softness she only saw when they were together. "It's perfect."

She made to kiss him on the cheek, but he moved to intercept her. A small smirk formed in the corner of his mouth before he leaned in and kissed her, tentatively first, then pushing in deeper. His arms tightened around her and she let her hand slide upwards to tangle into his hair.

Months ago, back in Haven, that kiss had pulled her from the shadows, bringing a glimmer of light within the depths of uncertainty. That moment, short as it had been, had laid the foundation for everything that followed, everything that made her want to be a person worthy of the faith others had placed in her.

She wasn't sure what it had meant for him, what had gone through his head when he decided to harbour an unschooled mage in his tent and allow her into his life… Perhaps she'd ask him one day. When he pulled away and gently stroked her nose with his, however, he didn't seem to regret his decision.

"So…" he sighed contently, "What happens now?"

"Now?" Elsa looked out over the mountains. "Now the real work can begin."

He huffed a laugh and rested his chin on her shoulder. Two different people stood here today than in that tent, two people for whom a lot more uncertainties lay ahead. They had no clear enemy to fight, no black and white conflict between good and evil to solve. Instead they were facing kings and emperors, powerful institutions, and scores of people with shifting allegiances. As soon as their celebratory hangovers had worn off, each faction would try to fill the power vacuum the war had left behind. Lingering behind all that looming far larger and darker, were the forces playing in the shadows — waiting, biding their time. More difficult days were sure to follow, more moments of insecurity and doubt. Yet one thing she knew for certain — that they would support each other through it all, no matter what.

Elsa's mind had long started to plan ahead, as it always did — running through scenarios and possibilities, making lists of people to contact and tasks to complete. Some things could wait until Cassandra was appointed, others would need to be set in motion as soon as possible. She'd likely be travelling often in the upcoming time, closing residual rifts while meeting with the factions involved, and start enacting the reform they would decide on with the new Divine.

Without a war to fight, Cullen should have an easier time coming with her for that. He'd been calm on their trip through Ferelden, at times even seemed at peace. Their nights had been restful, their days enjoyable. She looked forward to exploring more of the world with him, all the while striving for the change Hawke had wished to see.

Her mental checklist came to a halt.

"There is another thing." She turned towards him. "I meant to tell you before. It's something I'd like your help with."

Cullen's expression was open, his eyes alight with a spark of curiosity. Whatever suspicion he'd held for her once had long gone. Instead he gave her one of his gentle smiles. Her heart jumped a little when, without a hint of hesitation, he replied —

"Let's hear it."


	62. In-Between

The sun rose above the rolling hills, casting its glow over the flowing desert sands. Even now, with the flaming arc only barely showing above the horizon, the heat made Cullen's arm tingle once its rays crept upon it. He looked up from the scroll he'd been working on and got to his feet. He stretched, loosening up his cramped muscles, and adjusted the canvas he'd stretched out above them the night before.

Underneath, protected by the shade, Elsa was fast asleep. She lay on her side, her hair splayed behind her across the ground. It was longer again. Though still cumbersome at times, it caused less trouble ever since she could dry it by magic. Cullen was happy for it — there was nothing quite like letting his fingers glide through that silver waterfall, causing her shivers, or watching the strands cover the shapes of her body, fall over her shoulders as she leaned into him, and feel them tickle his skin. He let his eyes drift over her, allowing himself a moment of melancholy for the past years, and smiled as he saw the gold band shine on her right hand. While tradition dictated she'd wear it on her left, like he did with his, she hadn't wanted to put it together with the Anchor.

Though the mark was hidden beneath her glove, he could swear he saw it pulse faintly in the half dark. It seemed calm today, but that didn't change how much further it had already spread. She'd repeatedly told him not to worry, that it wasn't as bad as it seemed, and yet… no matter how much she tried to assure him, he couldn't shake the concern flickering in his chest, like a watchful candle in the wind.

Cullen sat back down and continued his work, until eventually she stirred behind him. He rolled up the scroll when she did and placed it into his bag, something that didn't go unnoticed even as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"Is that the secret project again?" she yawned.

"Perhaps."

"I still can't see it?"

"No. It will be done soon, I promise. I just… want to get it right."

"The anticipation is killing me."

Elsa smiled at him, then dropped her gaze to the ground. She grabbed her bag, rummaged in it, and pulled forth a small diary. She scooted towards him, to the rock where he'd been writing on his document, and took the quill he'd put down. With quick motions she dipped it in the ink, flipped open the book, and jotted down the recollections from her dream. It was a few words only that didn't mean much to him — visions she'd seen, maybe some words that had been spoken… nothing that he could consider tangible proof she was getting closer to achieving what she'd asked him to help her with on the balcony two years ago.

"Anything?" he asked carefully.

Elsa shook her head and sighed in frustration as she snapped the book shut again. "No…" She looked to the horizon, where the remains of Adamant littered the golden ground. "I thought maybe if we came here, there would be… something. Solas could see wars that had taken place, events connected to the physical realm in the location that he'd slept. I've seen the fight, at times even seen her. Except it's not her… it's just an image."

"Elsa… perhaps —"

"Maybe I have it all wrong." She opened the book again and flicked through it, her nose buried in the pages and her eyes quickly scanning the scribbles. "If she's out there, what reason would she have for sticking around here? This place was nothing to her! Perhaps… perhaps rather than the battle, it's better to go to a place that is strongly linked to her."

"… Like Kirkwall?"

"Maybe," she nodded urgently, "We could combine it with checking on the construction in north Ferelden."

He took a deep breath as he searched for the right words, but her attention was drawn away before he could answer. His raven approached with a loud _caw_ and fluttered down towards them. It settled on the ground beside him, jutting out its leg with the utmost seriousness. He untied the message and rolled it out. His lingering unrest formed a thick lump in his stomach as he scanned it, especially at the seemingly innocuous combination of two words he always dreaded to see.

Elsa looked over his shoulder to read it as well. "Cassandra is finally convening the Exalted Council?"

"At the Winter Palace," Cullen sighed. "Seems like Kirkwall will need to wait a bit."

o - o - o

Their journey back took them over the Imperial Highway, making it pass quicker than Cullen would have wanted it to. They were to meet with the other advisers in a roadside tavern, an hour's ride away from Halamshiral, before joining in the proceedings as a group. Though he was happy at the prospect of seeing Josephine and Leliana again, he was far less pleased their solitary trip had to come to an end — especially if the reason was for them to attend another power struggle of the nobility instead.

After they'd defeated Corypheus, the first order of business had been to devise plans and draft policies, taking their ideas from thought to actionable steps. He'd focused his own efforts on the Chantry's treatment of templars, working closely with Elsa, Vivienne and Cassandra to devise comprehensive reform for both factions involved. It took months of meetings and discussions with local lords and officials to agree on a way forward, eventually leading to the establishment of a pilot program in both Ferelden and Orlais. In two locations, one close to Montsimmard and another near Denerim, the first new Circles were built based on their designs — walled cities in which mages could form communities with their family members, functioning like any other town in terms of trade and opportunities. Any mage who had finished their training could apply for another type of employment, even outside of town if they so wished. At the same time, local chantries were reinstated as places of worship and shelter for the poor, from which templars could operate to watch for signs of magic among the local population. The idea was to distribute mages more equally among the people and to have the knights regain their function as protectors of the public rather than prison guards.

Cullen was excited for these changes, though only time could tell whether they would work as intended. The army had transitioned to peacekeeping missions primarily, aiding in reconstruction efforts and maintaining a presence against bandits and others trying to exploit the aftermath of the war. He'd found himself managing the paperwork, while also dealing with the endless debates to get people on board with their plans. The reputation of the Chantry had been damaged considerably and soon enough the Inquisition began to receive less than warm welcomes as well. Elsa skilfully argued her way through the opposition, undeterred by their resistance. Though he continued to support her in any way he could, his frustrations with the world and those who decided its course only continued to grow, causing him to feel restless in a way he hadn't before.

Everything had gotten much better over the past year, where they'd spent most of their time on the road — going from place to place to guide construction efforts and teach local divisions the new ways of managing magic. Yet while early results were promising, the unrest behind the scenes had only continued to increase. Josephine handled the brunt of these concerns, but it gradually became clear this wasn't a storm they could simply wait out. He openly resented anyone trying to undercut their efforts at this point and even Elsa seemed hard-pressed to be understanding at times. Now it brought them here, to one of his least favourite places, bringing an end to their time away from the political games… It would come as a surprise to no one that he was less than eager.

Josephine walked out from the tavern to greet them as they handed their horses to the stable hand, while Leliana leaned out of an upstairs window.

"How was your trip?" Josephine asked Elsa in between kissing her on each cheek.

"The site near Montsimmard is operating well," she replied, waving at the spymaster, "There is still some resistance from the local population, but the educational programs seem to make a difference. The other towns are trading freely with the Circle."

"Sounds positive." The ambassador looked to him. "How was Delrin?"

"He's doing well," Cullen confirmed, "He knows how to handle Vivienne."

"They both extend their greetings, of course," Elsa added.

"Vivienne will be able to extend them in person soon enough," Leliana called from upstairs with a sly smile, "I can't imagine she will miss an event like this."

"Unlikely."

"Come on up." The spymaster nodded to the room behind her. "We don't want to be overheard."

The Inquisition had rented the entire tavern for the following nights. The bar was full of their people when they passed through it — soldiers, the Bull's Chargers, Blackwall, Sera and Dagna, and many others, who raised their hands in greeting as they passed by. Elsa halted here and there for a chat, until Cullen gently placed his hand on the small of her back. With the Exalted Council hanging over their heads, he wasn't in much of a mood for socialising.

They entered a large dormitory upstairs, where Josephine and Leliana were waiting for them. They weren't the only ones. Elsa let out a small squeal the moment they stepped inside. She ran ahead and flung herself against Varric, who laughed heartily as he embraced her in return.

"What happened to appearances, Sterling?"

"It's only us here," she argued, though she still straightened herself up fairly quickly after her outburst, "With the way they've started treating us, I'm not sure how much my appearance matters anymore."

"Indeed," Leliana mused, "The time for that seems quite far gone."

"I didn't know you'd be here," Elsa complained to the dwarf, "You didn't reply to my last letter."

"Wanted to surprise you," he shrugged, "and I'm afraid I got a little behind on correspondence. I get a lot more of it since I took office and it takes some time to decide what to ignore."

"I still can't believe you're the viscount now," Cullen chuckled as he shook hands with Bull, "Do you operate from the Hanged Man?"

"Whenever I can, Curly. Whenever I can."

"What about the rest of our people?" Elsa asked Josephine.

"Still on the way. Dorian will be attending as the official delegate from Tevinter." She glanced at Bull, who gave her a thumbs up. "I imagine the rest will show on the day itself as far as they're able to."

"Why did Cassandra call the Exalted Council?" Cullen asked, sitting down on one of the beds. "She's kept everyone off our backs for the past two years. The work is progressing well, with her support — what is their problem?"

"Their problem is our reach and our size, Cullen," Josephine sighed as she sat down herself. "Ferelden is spooked by our army lingering on their border and extending into their land. Orlais is as well, except they would see us brought under their control rather than dissolved completely."

"How quickly people forget, eh?" Varric joked wryly.

"We've been expecting this." Elsa turned towards the other women. "What are our options here, really? We need their cooperation if we want to keep working — there is enough resistance already with the College of Enchanters resisting any Chantry influence, no matter how small they are."

"They just want to govern themselves," Leliana contended. Though she'd supported them in their efforts, it was clear she would have liked to see more radical change within the Chantry than Cassandra was willing to enact. She spent more time away from Skyhold nowadays as well, leaving for weeks at a time whenever she could meet up with Warden Amell. Being able to spend more time with her seemed to soothe the spymaster's sharper edges, enough for him to start noticing a certain weariness lingering behind her eyes. He didn't think he was only projecting his own feelings onto her when he thought that, like him, she was growing tired of the endless struggle. "Regarding the Council," she continued, "I'm not sure what the best course of action is. We have been working so closely with the Chantry not much would change if we renounced our independence."

"We've been able to enact way more change this way," Elsa replied, "Our efforts would be impeded if we needed to wait for the clerics to approve our every move."

"True, but now that the plans are on the way… perhaps we can rely on them to stay the course."

"When did relying on the clerics work out for us?" Cullen scoffed, "They would have burned Elsa at the stake if they'd had their way three years ago."

"That's a little dramatic, Cullen," Josephine sighed, "Everyone was suspicious of her at the start, even us."

"Regardless, that's a long time ago," Elsa intervened, "I am not sure I trust the clerics, but neither is Cassandra helped by us undermining her."

"What's the alternative, Boss?" Bull and the Chargers had been chasing down Venatori and lingering red templar activity for most of the past years. Whenever necessary, he acted as the Inquisitor's personal guard as well. "Seems like either we keep adding fuel to the fire, meaning something's gonna blow eventually, or we get in line with the Chantry."

"… Or we disband."

They all turned towards him. It had been on his mind for some time, though he hadn't yet spoken it out loud. The plans he'd been working on were based on such an outcome — if not for the entire Inquisition, then for him alone. He wouldn't leave Elsa's side, not as long as she had need of him, but he didn't want to spend the rest of his life leading an army. He wanted more, though he wondered if she would see it as such. He glanced at Elsa, who observed him with surprise.

"Disband?"

He nodded. "It's what Ferelden wants from us, isn't it? Perhaps… perhaps it's time. We can keep helping Cassandra, but the work would fall unto the Chantry and the local governments instead of us. Like Bull said, if we don't relinquish some control it will blow up eventually."

"They were happy enough to have us handle everything when the world was going to be destroyed."

"They were… and now they're not. Unless another threat emerges that will make them want to hide behind us again, the situation will only get worse."

Perhaps he should have brought it up with her before this moment, but he hadn't been able to find the words. He couldn't quite interpret her expression as she looked at him now, while the others eyed each other uncomfortably. She then seemed to file away the discussion for a later time and shook her head. "Perhaps," she admitted, "but I'm not willing to accept that yet. We're only just getting started." She turned to the others in the room. "I suggest we all get a good night's sleep — tomorrow we'll need to be on our best behaviour."

o - o - o

They rode into the palace the next day, where they were far from the first to arrive. Carriage after carriage lined up outside, while servants ran back and forth to take the guests' luggage to their rooms. All eyes were on them as he flanked Elsa going up the stairs. Though he still felt annoyed at the prying eyes judging them from all directions, walking in together with her was infinitely better than the first time they'd gone there.

They'd barely made it two paces into the inner courtyard before people started clamouring for her attention. He stayed with Elsa for some time, making small talk and answering excited questions about their wedding. A number of people expressed dismay at not having been invited to what had, to his relief, turned into a very small affair that only involved the Inquisition and their direct family. Others appeared primarily interested in betting on the longevity of their union. Elsa suggested for them to split up soon after their arrival, so that he might find some of the Fereldan delegates to talk to while she went to meet the Empress. Celene, at least, still appeared to remember what they'd done for her, and would likely continue to support them for a while longer… at least until it would become too damaging for her to continue.

Cullen wandered the grounds, not eager to talk to anyone. He spotted Josephine on the other side of the plaza, talking to Arl Teagan. Though he was a reasonable enough man, his communication had become more hostile over time. Especially their occupation of Caer Bronach, which had become one of their major strongholds, seemed to worry him. It made Cullen reluctant to engage with him now and relieved to see Josephine was already doing so. He wasn't sure what he could add in his present state… the proceedings and everything around it felt strangely inconsequential, even if they would determine their fate going forward.

He headed into the palace garden, buying himself some more time before he had to go perform his part. A fountain clattered happily in the middle of a circular courtyard. Three years ago, he'd stood here at the end of the ball. Any lingering evidence that hadn't been scrubbed away on the night itself, had long faded. Today, not a single blade of grass was out of place between the ornate tiles, polished marble, and sculpted shrubbery.

A massive pair of paws came bounding through the undergrowth, trampling the delicate buds and carefully trimmed borders. A bundle of muscle and fur, tongue lolling from its drooling mouth, and twigs sticking to its head, the mabari ran up to him like a cannon ball shot from a barrel. It bounced around with giant leaps, barking excitedly, then came to sit in front of him with tilted head, one ear pointing upwards, the other flopped over at the tip.

Cullen stared at it for a moment and the dirt it had tracked from the flowerbed onto the pristine floor. "Hello, friend," he said uncertainly, kneeling down beside it, "Where did you come from?"

It barked loudly, then spun in a tight circle. It plopped its butt back on the ground again with a thud and looked at him, beaming happiness.

"Doesn't seem like you have a collar…" Cullen reached for the hound, but halted as it sniffed his hand. The dog's nose twitched repeatedly, breathing warm puffs of air onto his skin. Once he decided the man in front of him wasn't all bad, he gave a slobbering lick across his fingers. Cullen huffed a laugh as he petted the great beast on the neck, feeling the strong muscles tense lightly before they relaxed. Its hind leg began to tap repeatedly on the ground as he scratched behind its ear, until it dropped onto its back like a baby.

"What are you up to?"

Elsa had appeared by their side and looked at them with amusement. Her eyes drifted to the hound, who looked at her upside down with a ridiculous grin, and back to him. Cullen rubbed his neck, quite aware he'd been caught slacking off.

"I was talking to a Fereldan delegate?"

"He looks more fun than the Arl, I'll give you that," she laughed and dropped to her knees beside them. "Where's his owner?"

"I'm not sure he has one," Cullen murmured, assessing the dog jumping up again to examine this new person. It shoved its large head towards her, making the strands of hair framing her face bounce in the air with its panting. "Mabari's don't usually leave their owner's side. Perhaps he belonged to some noble who grew tired of the novelty."

Elsa gasped theatrically and turned to the dog now pressing its nose into her lap. "How could anyone grow tired of you?" she asked, slapping her hands on her thighs. "Who's a good boy?" The dog made an excited hop, barked, and wiggled its behind. "Is it you?" she asked, ruffling his ears until he flopped over once more. "I think it is! Who's a good boy? You are! Yes, you are!"

It shimmied back and forth on the ground, its stumpy tail swinging wildly as she rubbed its belly. She laughed brightly when the hound jumped back up, front legs splayed wide and its behind sticking in the air, ready to play. Cullen, despite his annoyance with their surroundings, felt a smile spread across his face. She looked to him and seemed a little taken aback by how he was observing her rather than the dog.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, stroking a loose curl behind her ear.

"That I don't have to imagine you rolling on the ground with a pack of hounds anymore."

She blinked. "It's been ages since I told you about that!"

"… It left an impression."

A soft smile formed around her lips. She looked to the mabari, who eyed her with tilted head and tongue dangling from its mouth. For a moment she seemed about to speak, until someone called her name. They looked up to see Leliana pacing towards them, her expression dark as a storm.

"What's wrong?" Cullen asked.

"Both of you need to come with," she said in a low voice, glancing around her. "Cassandra asked for us. They've found something."

"Found something?"

Leliana didn't answer. Her gaze was drawn to a group of people gossiping some distance away, then she jerked her head. Elsa and Cullen exchanged a look and walked after her, their new companion following on his heel. Only once they were inside the palace and she confirmed the room was empty did the spymaster turn around.

"A Qunari warrior," she whispered, "Dead."

o - o - o

They stood over the body of the intruder. The hulking shape wore bloodied plating, like he'd been torn straight from a battlefield. He was strangely out of place, lying on a plush carpet in a room with ornate chairs and delicate finery. The door to the outside had been closed and there were no other entrances. For him to come in here, he'd have to have stumbled through the palace garden, somehow making it through unseen. His very presence, his location, and the way he sat slumped against the wall… it did not seem real, reminding Cullen of something out of a play.

"I do not believe he died here," Leliana said, confirming his suspicions of the staged scene, "Someone wanted us to find him."

"Us specifically?" Elsa inquired, "Or just anyone?"

Cassandra shook her head. "I believe it was meant for us. No one else was going to be in these parts of the palace — it's been reserved for the Inquisition and the Divine alone."

"Good." Cullen knelt down beside the body and eyed the blood trail staining the rug. "And where did he come from?"

"That's the second bit of bad news," Leliana sighed, "The trail leads to an eluvian, right here in the palace."

"An eluvian?" Elsa's eyes widened. "Is it active?"

Leliana nodded. "Someone wants us to go in there… my guess is, they want it to be you."

o - o - o

The eluvian stood within a small library, surrounded by cupboards and piles of books. Cullen had argued for removing theirs for years. Since he was in the minority, the alternative had been that he had guards posted beside it around the clock. It hadn't been active for a long time, slowly reducing the importance of the problem. Standing before this one reminded him again of why he'd been so unsettled by the one in Skyhold… the power emanating from it when it was active reminded him far too much of the Breach, and it sent chills down his spine.

Elsa's team filed into the room, lining up behind her without question despite just having been summoned from tea and chitchat with little explanation. They eyed the mirror with some bemusement, then looked to them. Elsa had changed out of her official garb and into her armour, and now checked the arrows in her quiver. The Anchor pulsed heavily on her left hand, seeming a lot more aggressive than it had that morning when they got dressed.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

She flexed her fingers. "It… stings, but I'll be okay. I don't want to think about it now."

"Are you sure I shouldn't come with you?"

"I don't think you should," she sighed, "This mirror is a liability as long as we don't know what's going on. If anything happens here while we're away, someone needs to protect those people out there… Please, stay."

"I…" He glanced at Dorian and Bull, whose time together was short enough without an impromptu mission. Varric was polishing Bianca, whom Cullen doubted had seen much action in the past two years. They'd be alright, he could rely on them for that… but more than anything he noticed how much he hated that they were all in this type of situation again. "Fine," he conceded, "Take care of each other."

"Always do," Varric assured him. "Don't you worry."

They gathered around her, while she pulled her hair back into a braid. She gave him a long look before she turned around and they disappeared into the mirror one by one.

o - o - o

He attended his duties, directing his soldiers to secure the palace and the people within. He doubted taking control of the event by force would do anything to appease Ferelden's ire, but they had little choice. While Josephine and Cassandra managed the nobility, he directed his efforts to rooting out any other surprises that might be lying in wait for them. He found very little, eventually leaving him with little else to do than await Elsa's return and hope for the best.

Elsa was in and out of the eluvian, each time emerging more battered than before. She grew increasingly brusque with him and the others, and only barely managed to keep her temper when a scuffle broke out between one of their agents and an Orlesian servant. Cullen watched her push herself to her limit, in a way he had not seen her do for a long time. She'd expressed her frustration with the resistance they faced in private, her shock at the speed with which their former allies started turning on them. Now it was all reaching a boiling point, while the Fereldan and Orlesian ambassadors waited for her to join the talks with increasing vexation, and another plot to destroy what she'd been trying to built slowly manifested itself. It all was not helped by the Anchor crackling with electricity on her hand, growing stronger no matter how much she tried to downplay it.

The worst blow came once they uncovered that their own organisation had been responsible for delivering explosive barrels to the Winter Palace as part of the Qunari scheme. Leliana reported that a number of elven servants had disappeared — residents from the Kirkwall alienage who had likely converted to the Qun before joining them. Elsa stared at her, then at the floor, her shoulders sagging as the mark continued to flare beneath her glove.

They'd been compromised from the start. Although the current situation was exactly the kind of threat that could make the Inquisition relevant in the eyes of the nobility again, Cullen found that he had little energy for making that case. Leliana looked embarrassed at the glaring oversight that had occurred on their watch, while Josephine was close to tears. The talks were falling apart and the Inquisition had seized control of the palace by force, doing exactly the type of thing that the nobles were afraid of them doing. He argued back that it was the right thing, but knew she wasn't wrong… they couldn't go on like this. Not when they couldn't even trust their own people, or when their efforts had been directed by others from the start.

"For now, we need to stop the Qunari," Elsa declared, her voice wrought with emotion. "Afterwards we'll figure out what to do about our own mistakes."

"Elsa —"

The mark pulsed and she yelled out in pain, following it up with an angry curse. The mabari gave a scared yelp and hid behind his legs as he moved towards her. She looked at it with something between a smile and a pained grimace. "It's okay, boy."

"Elsa, it's not okay," Cullen argued, taking her hand. It was burning hot to the touch… for her, it had to feel like her skin was on fire. "This is getting dangerous."

"I don't know why it's happening," she said through gritted teeth, pulling her hand loose and shaking it out, "The only one who ever understood anything about this thing was —"

She froze and stared off into space. Her mouth moved silently without producing sound, miming thoughts he wasn't privy to.

"What?" he pressed her. "What's going on?"

"Fen'Harel," she muttered, then whipped her head around. "I'm going back into the eluvian, we need to stop this attack. WIth some luck, I'll find a solution for this stupid thing as well." She looked to Josephine. "I'm sorry, please keep the summit occupied a little bit longer — tell them what's going on. I will join you as soon as I can, I promise."

The ambassador nodded and they watched her go, her team following behind her once more. Cullen exchanged a look with all of them, telling them to keep her safe. They seemed more concerned now than they had the previous times as well, but their expressions were clear — only over their own dead bodies would they let something happen to her.

The mirror flashed as it swallowed her up. The mabari sat down beside him and pushed its head into his hand with a sympathetic whine. Cullen absentmindedly stroked its fur, while a realisation materialised that had been dawning on him for a long time.

He didn't want to do this anymore.


	63. Looking Ahead

**One more chapter after this, stay tuned!**

* * *

Elsa opened her eyes to the view of a silk canopy, which framed a four poster bed in a luxurious bedroom. She'd been here before, or someplace similar… it seemed like forever ago. The room's decor was completely over the top compared to Skyhold, let alone to how they'd been camping for most of the past months. The scent of violets and vanilla hung heavily in the air, making her slightly nauseous.

She looked to her side to find Cullen sitting beside her, a little slumped in his chair and with his eyes closed. Next to him, the dog he'd found lay curled up on the floor, its head resting on his foot. It had to have been some time since she was brought here. She couldn't remember how she got back… all she could remember was what she had to tell him once he woke up.

Elven ruins speaking tales of Fen'Harel and the true nature of the Evanuris. Qunari besieging her team at every turn, bent on bringing the south under the Qun's control to keep magic from threatening the world ever again. They'd fought them tooth and nail, foiled their plans, and set the dragon they'd harnessed free. A disaster avoided… peace for another day, until the next problem would rear its head.

Her body felt normal, though exceedingly heavy as it lay sunken within the mattress. She was tired… so very tired. For two years she'd felt invigorated, fired up by the change they had started to make. Even in the face of adversity, everything they could accomplish had given her energy. Even as the mark continued to grow ever more painful, spreading up her skin until it even seemed to close in on her heart, she had pressed on.

Now she remembered the Exalted Council somewhere outside of this ornate room, waiting for her. She didn't feel invigorated by that prospect… not anymore.

After braving ruins and the Deep Roads, she'd chased the Qunari leader through the final eluvian. It closed behind her with a sizzle and for a moment she stood frozen, wondering what to do without her team, only to hear a familiar voice speak in the distance. She'd woven her way between the petrified Qunari, a scene that appeared to have been lifted straight from a dream. Without even raising his hand, Solas added another feature to the sculpture garden. He then looked upon her… and smiled.

He'd told her of the past, eventually leading up to the present, to where he'd seen her as his best chance at stopping Corypheus. If she'd felt small facing the power of Mythal and the magic in the old temple, hearing him speak made her feel near insignificant. He'd been guiding her along all this time to serve his own purpose. It was all part of his plan to restore the elven people, even if it came at the cost of everyone else. Considering the power that seemed to emanate from him now, something which she'd only ever glimpsed at during their training, she didn't doubt he could deliver on such a promise.

"Why bother with the Inquisition?" she asked him, "Or the south at all? Why not just let the Qunari do their thing, if you're just going to destroy it all yourself?"

"I am no monster. If they must die, best they die in comfort."

"So we are like animals to you? Keep us happy in our ignorance until you exterminate us?" She shook her head. "How can you consider such a thing?"

"I do not do so lightly," he sighed, "When I woke, it was like walking through a sea of Tranquil. If only you could see what my people once were…"

"So you just burn everything down on the chance you might get it back?"

"Wouldn't you? To save your people?"

"I found my people in the Inquisition, Solas. If this is how you really see us… how frustrating it must have been for you, spending all that time teaching someone like me."

"On the contrary," he said quietly, inclining his head, "I respect how seriously you took your efforts in bettering yourself. You showed yourself to be curious and open-minded in a way I did not expect of you at first. It does not make what comes next easier."

"Good," she laughed. "If nothing else, at least I will have made omnicide slightly harder on you."

The elf looked away. She couldn't believe how he could even entertain such a monstrous plan, no matter how guilty he felt about his past actions. The only ray of hope, however slight, was that he seemed at least faintly troubled by the consequences of what he intended. It wasn't much, but it was more than Corypheus had done.

She had struck down a would-be god, but she did not presume herself capable of defeating an actual one. Though he denied that's what he was, the way he stood there, in complete command of their surroundings, he sure seemed like one. If she was to prevent his plan from happening, the best she could do was seize upon whatever humanity lingered within him.

"Please, Solas," she said quietly, stepping closer. He raised his head slightly, but didn't move away. "Don't do this. You can't… not after everything we went through. Work with us. Maybe we can help — find a way for you to achieve what you want without tearing apart everything else."

A tiny smile formed in the corner of his mouth. "You still speak convincingly."

"I am not playing you, Solas. Much as I want to say I'll fight you… I know my limitations." The mark on her hand began to burn more hotly, despite it stilling under his influence before. Solas' gaze flitted to it briefly, then back to her. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she willed them away. "Please," she pleaded, "I beg you… reconsider. Let's find another way."

"You know better than to bargain with something you do not possess," he said solemnly. "Much as I would like to take your offer, there is no other way."

"I can't accept that, Solas. There are things in this world that are worth preserving… I'll make you see it."

Another stinging pain flared through her arm, burning hot from the tips of her fingers and radiating up to her shoulder. She fell to her knees, grasping her wrist in agony. Through the haze of pain she saw Solas looking down upon her, as if watching a creature struggle in a trap. He slowly came closer, knelt down, and took her hand to pull it towards him.

"You were always good at changing minds," he said quietly, "Believe me when I say that I would love nothing more than another chance to be wrong, Inquisitor."

Elsa laughed weakly at the sound of her title. The times she heard it these days were few and far between — inside the Inquisition, people rarely used it.

"I never did convince you to use my name… did I?"

His eyes lit up to a brilliant white. Elsa felt his mana, stronger than anything she could ever possess, surge underneath his touch. It seemed to cost him no effort, as easy and natural as breathing. The pain continued to intensify, coalescing around her elbow as if it were carved at by a thousand knives.

"You didn't." The light faded, allowing the shadows of regret to fall back across his eyes. "Now you know why."

She'd lost consciousness then, while his words echoed in her head. Her mind looped over their conversation as she lay there in the opulent bed, unwilling to get up. As soon as she would, she had to tell everyone else what was going on…

Another person was trying to destroy the world.

To buy herself a few more moments, she scanned her body for injuries. Surprisingly, it seemed alright — better than she had expected after the pain from before she'd passed out. All in all, she felt fine now, save for a dull ache lingering behind her eyes. She reached for it and summoned her mana, except her fingers never reached her temple. She looked at her hand, wondering if it was asleep or numbed in some way.

It wasn't.

Her eyes grew wide and her heart leapt into her throat. She scrambled up against the headboard, trying to get away from the emptiness, the gaping void that had appeared where her lower arm should be.

Cullen was startled by her sudden awakening and the mabari yelped in surprise as he shot up in his chair. He got up quickly and moved to the edge of the bed, taking a steadying hold of her shoulders. "Elsa," he shushed her, "Shh, Elsa, calm down. It's okay, calm down."

"Calm down?!" she shrieked. "The ass took my arm!"

"I am aware… please. What happened? You were unconscious when the others brought you back through the eluvian. Who took your arm?"

"Solas! That fucking shit!"

With her breath high in her chest, she expelled another long string of curse words, unable to channel her anger in any other way. Cullen sat quietly beside her, his head slightly turned away, waiting for her to finish. When she finally did, he glanced up with a slight grimace.

"Sorry," she muttered.

She made to touch his face, but the end of her left arm only gracelessly flopped against his shoulder. Another wave of bile rose in her throat, though no longer because of the perfume soaked into the blanket.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered again, "It's disgusting."

"Hey now." Cullen's hand slid down from her shoulder and brought her elbow to his face. She could feel his warmth through the bandage, his scruff against the skin above it. He kissed her defect, like he kissed any other part of her — full of love and without a trace of hesitation. "You could never be disgusting. Don't ever say that."

She began to cry, without grace or constraint, every emotion swirling in her chest liquefying into thick drops that flowed down her cheeks and stained the sheets. In between sobs she told him what happened, who the elf really was and what he was planning to do. Cullen sat in silence, listening intently, his hand still cupped protectively around the end of her arm.

"We can't let him do this," she hiccuped. "We have to find him, change his mind."

She watched her words land, but they did not garner the response she was expecting. Normally the gears in his head would start turning, evaluating plans and possibilities, considering instructions to his men. Their first course of action would be to get rid of Skyhold's eluvian, something which he'd wanted her to do for a long time. There would be an 'I told you so' coming her way one of these days, though he would likely hold off for a while given her current condition. They would need to move quickly, capture any agents of Solas they could find, if they hadn't fled already. They had to inform people and…

It was clear that his mind was considering none of those things. Instead he continued to look at her, pain dancing in his eyes like she had not seen in years. He sighed and looked to the floor, then back up.

"I will support you in whatever you want to do," he said solemnly, "but… I think I am done."

"Done?" She stared at him, not comprehending. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… perhaps it doesn't need to be us."

"Cullen, he is going to tear down the Veil! That could destroy —"

"I understand very well what he wants to do," he cut her off, "but… Forgive me, Elsa, look at yourself. You have given enough — we have given enough."

His words stung like needles. Elsa glanced at her missing hand. She could feel her fingers, palm, wrist and all… except they weren't there. "You're saying I'm useless," she choked.

"I would never say that," he said sternly. "Your strengths never relied on… your arm, and you will always have your magic. What I am saying is that… perhaps someone else can fight this battle."

"He was with us for a year — he can't have lost all his senses. If anyone can convince him to —"

"It might be you," he conceded. "Elsa, I will never tell you what to do. What I am trying to tell you is what I want."

His bag was lying on the ground. The mabari grabbed it as he reached for it and held it out to him. He huffed a smile and took it, then pulled out the mysterious set of documents he'd been working on for the past weeks. Elsa eyed them mistrustfully when he held them out to her, but took them. She shook them out, a little clumsily with only one hand, and started to read.

Tears pooled into her eyes once more as she let them glide across the page. His neat hand, the same as she had seen it in numerous letters and countless reports, detailed his plans to her in painstaking detail. That in itself was not what moved her. His reports were never half-hearted, always more fastidious than they were perhaps required to be. What moved her was that, for the first time that she could recall, his writing was detailing something that he felt passionate about, and how much of himself he had put within it.

"What do you think?" he asked nervously.

"I… think it's wonderful, Cullen."

"Really?" He perked up a little, a careful smile flitting across his face. "Is it… is it something you can get behind?"

"Of course, it's…"

Elsa blinked her vision clear and flipped through the pages one more time. They'd need to arrange land, funding… Private financing could prove difficult, but Cassandra would undoubtedly support an initiative like this. Ideas rapidly formed in her head, until she reigned them back in. Nothing of it would matter if they'd be right back where they started, with another person trying to wreck everything in a few years time.

She sighed and folded the pages closed. "It's a great idea, Cullen, but if Solas —"

"I will pick up my sword any time the world has need of it," he asserted, "I promise you that, but until then… I'd like us to think about ourselves for a change."

"Even if you know it might only be temporary?"

He took a deep breath. "Yeah," he nodded, "I don't want to miss out on something because I'm scared of what might happen."

She stared at his papers. There was nothing wrong with the contents. It made perfect sense and it would allow them the life they'd talked of at times. Yet whenever they'd discussed it — a family, a house, less travel — it had still felt years away. She hadn't expected the decision to come today, to be forced on her by the loss of her limb. There was still so much to do that accepting anything else, no matter how honourable of a reason… it felt like giving up.

"I'm not done yet," she whispered, "I… I'm sorry. There's more that I want to do."

He edged further onto the bed. "You can do whatever you want, love," he assured her, stroking back her hair, "but we can take a break, at least. Evaluate where we stand. Maybe… consider what else we want."

"Would you do it without me?"

"… I might," he sighed, looking to the proposal. "I don't want to be a soldier my entire life, so… yes. I think I would. Though I'd rather do it together."

Her fingers tensed around his papers. She looked over to her left side. Where her veins had glowed green before, dark scarring now marked her fair skin. She wondered what her elbow looked liked under the bandage, but wasn't curious enough to check. It would be some time before she would get used to such a big part of her missing, even if the mark had become troublesome as of late. She'd closed rifts with it, used it for casting, amplified her mana…

Her breath hitched when another realisation hit her, clenching around her lungs like an iron fist.

"The Anchor allowed me to dream," she whispered. "I… I don't know if I'll be able to search for her."

"Elsa…" His hands were warm and calming as they enveloped hers. He lifted it to his face and pressed a kiss on her wedding ring. "It's been nearly three years… you've tried. Perhaps it's time to let her go."

Though part of her did not want to accept it, another knew he was right. She'd long seen it coming, when night after night had brought her no result. At times she'd thought she caught a glimpse of her, heard her voice, felt her energy… but nothing concrete. Most likely, it had only been her own desire for it to be true. She'd known she had to give up at some point. The only thing she hadn't done was voice that thought out loud, for only that would make it an undeniable truth. Now Cullen had done so for her, and the loss of the Anchor further cemented that reality. She had failed, if ever she'd had a chance to succeed in the first place.

She took a deep breath, allowing her disappointment a moment to settle. Then she put his proposal aside and straightened herself up.

"What do we do about the Inquisition?"

He leaned back a little and thought. "We've been compromised… apparently for a long time. If the Inquisition remains, it requires rooting out Solas' agents. Afterwards we can't be sure who he sneaks back in, if we even get all of them."

"We can't just remove all elves out of paranoia," Elsa sighed, shaking her head, "but I don't want to be looking over my shoulder either, expecting a spy around every corner."

"Then what is it that you want to do?"

She wiped her face with the back of her hand. The mirror across the bed showed a young woman, grey eyes lined with red and slightly puffy — nothing a cold washcloth couldn't fix. A couple of faint lines marked her skin these days, cuts and minor injuries that hadn't disappeared completely. Her right arm still sported the scar from her brush with the red templar. Her left was largely gone. The result felt strangely off-balance and would have disqualified her from the Game if she was still playing it the way she used to. She couldn't yet see how to turn this new look into an asset, save for its obvious shock value… but she'd be damned sure to try.

Beside her reflection sat a man, facing the other way. His back was faintly outlined by the glow of the candles around them and his golden hair, flecked with a small amount of white, shone dimly. She wrapped her one arm around him, and watched her hand clutch the shirt between his broad shoulders. He held her in return, protectively sheltering her damaged arm with his own as if it had never been any different. She smiled and pushed her face into his neck, breathing in his ever intoxicating scent.

Anything they'd done the past years, they'd done it together. Whatever plan she had made, he had joined her in it. Now he was asking her to join in his. She wasn't done yet… but she didn't mind letting him take the lead for a while.

"Can you help me get dressed?" she asked, nodding to her uniform, "There are some ungrateful world leaders I need to give a piece of my mind."


	64. Their Circumstances

The labyrinth was cool and dark around her, calming in its familiarity. Up and down, over and under… the staircases stretched out in all directions, reaching into the void. She knew each step connecting to every landing and how it all weaved together the many archways by heart. It had been a long time since she'd closed any of the doors… except for one.

Elsa sat on the ground, hugging her legs to her chest. Her mana drifted around her, curling like smoke and flowing like water. She reached her hands out, letting it glide between her fingers like a circus animal jumping through a hoop. Its was responsive tonight, its energy gentle. If she'd still been able to go beyond this place, she might've had a chance at finding her.

She didn't try on purpose anymore, not really… it was habit more than active choice, and one limited by her ability. Even if she set her intent before falling asleep, she often could not stay awake once she entered the Fade. She'd still see her at times, but she did not have the capacity to reach out to her. Whenever she did manage to retain control, she would end up here. The scenery no longer changed, no matter how far she travelled, and few others ever visited.

Tonight was an exception. A faint quiver pulled through the silence, announcing his arrival. She didn't look up when he appeared beside her. He'd relinquished his human form some time ago. Instead his presence was evident only from the soothing sensation flooding her body whenever he was near. It was the same feeling that had helped her navigate this place the first time she'd been cast into it. While she didn't need him for that purpose anymore, his presence was no less welcome.

"Good evening, Cole."

"Is it?"

"It… is an evening, at least."

"You are searching again."

Though he was no longer corporeal, he was no less direct. "I am," she sighed, looking up at the closed door. It was a single, stone slab covered in alien runes and markings, its frame dark twisting rock with a green shimmer. "I can't help it."

"It makes you sad."

"It does… but some sadness isn't bad."

"Isn't it?"

"No… as long as someone is sad about them, it means a person hasn't been forgotten."

The air stirred a little. "The memories do not need to be sad for them to be remembered."

"I know… How are you? Noticed anything lately?"

A faint breeze rose from the quiet, stirring the locks of hair framing her face. She closed her eyes, feeling the presence fade from her one side and reappear on her other.

"No," sighed the wind, "He won't let me."

Elsa took a deep breath and nodded. "Thanks for trying."

"Don't be sad… Cullen isn't."

"Isn't he?" she laughed, "How's he doing?"

The breeze picked up, wrapping around her in a playful rustle. "He sounds new," it mused, "Echoes of laughter on an empty riverbed. Not for sailing, but safer."

Elsa smiled. "Sounds about right."

"He's looking forward to seeing you again."

"Me too." She raised her head and let her eyes drift over the recesses of her mind. They vanished the moment she got to her feet, leaving nothing but tranquil darkness. "I should get back then, shouldn't I?"

"… You should."

"See you soon, Cole."

"Not too soon."

"Heh… I'll do my best."

Though she could no longer direct her dreams, at least she felt rested once they were over. She lay on her back, looking up at the canvas roof of her tent. Her breath made small puffs in the air. They hovered above her for a moment, until they dissipated in the cool morning.

She rolled to her side and pushed herself up to a sitting position. With some effort she pulled on her boots and attached her prosthetic, using her teeth to fasten the leather straps tying it to her upper arm. Though the cast had little use for finer work, she carried a variety of attachments for it that increased its utility. Most importantly, it notched into the bow that Dagna and Harrit had designed for her, allowing her to shoot.

This morning she didn't need to. She got up and went outside to find the familiar view of Bull's hulking form sitting by the fire. He looked over his shoulder when he heard her approach and smiled widely.

"Morning, Boss." He got up to drag an extra log towards the fire for her to sit on. "We've got a stew going — Skinner had a good haul this morning. People can say what they want about Ferelden, but they've got good forests."

"Thanks," Elsa sighed, holding her belly as she sat down on the seat. "We're hungry."

"Starting to really show there," Krem commented, "About time we got you home again, Inquisitor."

"How many times do we need to go over this, Krem? No Inquisition, no Inquisitor. Elsa is fine."

"Still feels weird," he shrugged. "Don't think I'll ever get used to it."

"Stick with Sterling then," Elsa suggested, stretching her back, "I miss someone calling me that."

"Aye," Krem winked, "That I can maybe do."

Camp had largely been dismantled already and Krem walked off to pack the last tent. Elsa gratefully took the bowl of food the Qunari handed her, enjoying the heat of it to warm her hand in the early chill. It would heat up soon enough once the sun would reach above the trees, but the cold lingered for now. Tonight she would take a bath and then sleep in her own bed with his arms around her. Much as she'd grown to enjoy travelling, she also couldn't wait for that feeling, especially now.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

Early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting their bedroom in an ochre sheen. It warmed the rough-cut wooden floorboards and highlighted the drawings hanging on the wall. The vials of deep shroom extract reflected brightly on the night stand, throwing shimmering specks unto the ceiling.

Cullen lay still for a moment, enjoying the tranquillity before the start of the day. He loved the beginning of summer… ever since moving he'd felt grateful for the times where the sun could be his wake-up call. While he hadn't minded the temperature in Skyhold, the days of the year had largely blended together. Ferelden did not have an ideal climate, but at least it had proper seasons and long days from Bloomingtide to August.

He found himself lying in a diagonal across the bed, though he'd started neatly on his own side the night before. He huffed a laugh, picturing how she would kick him tonight if he dared to repeat it. Fortunately her presence was usually enough to keep him in line.

Rufus was in his regular spot in front of their daughter's bedroom door. The mabari twitched an ear when he heard Cullen rummage around, searching for clothes, and raised his head the moment he stepped out into the hall. His tongue flopped from his mouth as he sat up and panted happily.

"Hello, boy," Cullen said quietly, ruffling his ears. "How did you sleep?"

He let out a soft bark. It wasn't something they'd ever had to teach him. Ever since Abigail was born, he tended to lower his volume whenever she was around.

"Have you had your food yet?"

The dog whined, tilting his head.

"Didn't think so. Go track him down, alright?"

He barked, a little louder in his enthusiasm though still with his inside voice, and ran off. Cullen watched him bound around the corner, then entered the room.

The sun peaked between the shutters, gently touching upon the toddler bed and toys scattered across the floor. Cullen walked to the bed and looked down on their sleeping child. Maker, she was getting big. Each morning he could swear she had grown visibly, gradually losing her baby-like chubbiness and becoming a more full-fledged, tiny person.

He opened the window, causing her to stir. The girl sat up a short while later, while Cullen found her an outfit for the day. Her white blond hair was in disarray, an explosion of curls that framed her head.

"Morning, love," he greeted her, brushing her rosy cheek with the backs of his fingers. "How did you sleep?"

Abigail rubbed her eyes clear with tiny, balled fists and looked at him. Her hazel eyes shimmered brightly, full of excitement for another day.

"Good, Daddy."

"Are you going to help Daddy today? We're going to do our rounds and then we're going to build a fence."

She nodded enthusiastically. "But first!" she said importantly, raising a finger.

"First a bath?"

"Yeah!"

He took her hand and they walked down the hall, past the guest bedrooms and Elsa's study. All the while she commented on small things that caught her attention — a dog toy on the ground ("Rufus ball! Is it lost?"), the hamper in the corner ("Time to wash, Daddy"), a flowery plant outside the window…

"It's a tree!"

"No, Abby, that's a bush."

"… It's just little!" she argued, scowling at him as if he had personally offended the shrubbery.

"Alright."

She halted in the regular spot underneath a shelf. He lifted her up so that she could see on top of it.

"Mommy!"

Her hands reached for the portrait. The artist had made Elsa's features even more perfect than they already were, despite her insistence that the man stay true to life. Some of the lines in his face had similarly been smoothed out, making him seem younger and closer to her in age than he actually was. He didn't mind and treasured the picture, much like Abby did, despite the liberties it took with reality.

"She's coming home today," he told his daughter. "Later in the day."

She clutched the frame with both hands. "Can Mommy have a bath?"

"Sure, take her with you."

He carried her into the kitchen, set her down on the floor, and briefly stepped out to fill a large pot with water from the barrel by the door. It made a heavy clunk as he put it on the stove. He lit a fire underneath and helped Abby out of her clothes, while the water slowly heated up. Another upside to Elsa's imminent return — she made bath time a lot more efficient.

It was perhaps such simple things that had allowed her to adept to the loss of her hand as quickly as she had. She'd started experimenting to find small uses for her magic almost immediately — levitating objects towards her, warming food, conjuring water for the crops on a hot day… Nothing that would help save the world if it needed it, but all the difference in making their lives run a little bit smoother.

It wasn't the main reason they missed her, of course, and he didn't really mind when things took longer. While he had a list of tasks awaiting him today, he cherished every moment with Abigail that he had. It would only be a matter of years until they would know who she took after. Given how quickly the first few had passed, it almost felt like it could happen tomorrow. They didn't live far from the new Circle, at least, but still… he wasn't sure if they looked forward to that moment or dreaded it. Probably both.

Abby amused herself while he monitored the water and played with the wooden duck Nic had carved for her. Cullen took the pot off the stove once it reached the right temperature and poured the contents into the wooden tub. Abby clambered inside and splashed with her hands, making the water slosh over the side and unto the tile floor. He took a cloth and washed her, while she prattled on about a variety of topics, either addressing him or the picture beside them.

Once Abby was clean, he dressed her and fixed them breakfast. The door opened just as he handed her a bowl of blueberries from the first harvest. Rufus trotted in, holding his head high with the successful completion of his task. Nicolai followed behind the hound and grunted a greeting.

"Do I have a dorm full of tired workers this morning?" Cullen joked. "Feeding you grapes all night long?"

"I wish," Nic laughed, rubbing his eyes. "If only you figured out how to grow them. Waste of a farmer, you are."

Abby ran towards her uncle, showing off the bowl. "Uncle Nic!" she shouted with her mouth full, "Look, I have boobies."

He glanced at Cullen, who laughed. "You mean blueberries, Abby?"

"Boo-berry," she smiled.

"They look really nice. Can I have some?"

"… No."

"Alright… lovely talking to you." Nic ruffled her hair and she came running back, then plopped herself down on the ground. "The new guy was having a rough time." He walked over to the pantry, grabbed a piece of meat, and tossed it into Rufus' bowl. "Sorry, buddy. Lost track of time."

The mabari sat in front of the dish, drool pooling in his mouth, and looked to Cullen. He attacked the meal the moment his master gave the signal and pushed his bowl around the room with loud scrapes in his enthusiasm. Abigail giggled, making the dog wag its stumpy tail.

"Seriously though," Cullen told him, "you need to take care of yourself."

He meant it, but it wasn't like he could really fault him. Before his daughter was born he'd spent many a night with their guests as well, often forcing Elsa to tell him what he was saying now.

"I know," her brother acknowledged, taking a piece of bread from the counter, "but it's important to have someone there in the beginning."

"Of course. Anything else I should know?"

He shook his head. "No. It was pretty quiet otherwise. Might want to check on that guy though, he still wasn't great."

"Alright. Go get some sleep."

"Will do. Everyone's got jobs for the morning — I'll join you later."

Nic suppressed a yawn and raised a hand in parting. He left, passing by the windows on the way to his cottage. Cullen smiled to himself as he watched him go, then turned his attention back to the girl now tossing her fruit onto the floor.

After they were done eating breakfast, or fishing it out from between the tiles, he raised Abby onto his shoulders, where she held on by grabbing fistfuls of his hair. She shrieked with laughter when he bounced her up and down, clicking his tongue to mimic the sounds of a horse. Rufus happily bounded around them as Cullen put on his shoes, and dashed ahead the moment the door opened, sending the chickens in the yard fluttering away with an angry cackle.

The breeze rustled through the tall grass, among which insects buzzed between the wild flowers. Cullen walked along a dusty path, following Rufus towards the western buildings. One of their lodgers was already at work on the fence and waved as they passed him by. Abby waved back for the both of them, swinging her arms wildly overhead, while Cullen held on to her legs to keep her from falling off.

They went inside a large, converted barn, where Cullen's eyes drifted along the walls and floor and took note of areas that would require maintenance in the upcoming time. He came across more people, on their way to the shared kitchen or already occupied with the jobs they'd been assigned. They greeted him in passing, raising a hand or stopping for a short chat. Abby was happy to see anyone and insisted on shaking hands today. Though it made his rounds last longer than they usually would, it also made them more enjoyable.

He followed the Mabari into a room at the end of the hallway, which housed a number of beds and cupboards. Most of the occupants were up and about, except for one man in the far corner. Cullen nodded a greeting to the others. They stood a little away from the bed, eyeing the man in it with concern. They were no strangers to nights such as the one their roommate had been experiencing. Theirs had calmed within the weeks they had been here before him, like they did for most. Once he had to move on with the rest of his day, he could be assured they would look after him.

The man was in his early forties and had come to them from Denerim. He'd continued to serve his chantry during the war, trying his best to keep the locals safe from the mage-templar conflict. More recently, residents from the alienage had gotten increasingly troublesome, eventually leading to a violent confrontation that involved the use of blood magic. He'd been sent to them to calm down, but had declared he wanted to retire altogether shortly after his arrival. Now he was in the early stages of lyrium withdrawal — he had his eyes closed and his hands grasped at the sheets, while his laboured breath made him shake under the blanket.

Cullen put Abby down, who immediately wandered over to one of the others in the room, took her hand, and went to explore. Though there weren't children her own age around to play with, at least she had no trouble finding friends among the ex-templars.

"Good morning, Balen."

The man looked up with mildly panicked eyes when he heard Cullen's voice. He quickly tried to sit up, only to clutch his stomach. "Commander," he said with a pained grimace. "My apologies. I do not —" He groaned, his fingers gripping his shirt. "I do not mean to cause a disturbance, ser. Lord Trevelyan was already here for the night, I do not want to bother you too."

"You are not troubling anyone," Cullen assured him, sitting down on the stool Nic had likely occupied before, "Just take it easy. That's why you're here."

"Yes, ser… thank you."

"No need to call me that," he smirked, "and don't let Nic hear you called him that either. We only just knocked the privilege out of him."

The others in the room, who'd been here long enough to become familiar with their banter, laughed at the joke. Balen smiled a little uncertainly through his pain, then sighed deeply as he lowered himself back onto the pillow.

"How are you on extract?"

"I… took the morning dose. Lord Trev— Nicolai wasn't sure about taking more."

"Well, we want to be careful…" Cullen murmured, checking the ledger for the room, "but I think we can increase the amount a little. Do you think you can get up? It's best to stay busy."

"I don't —"

Abby came wandering back over. She stared at Balen for a long moment, then looked to him. "Is he lazy, Daddy?"

"Maker," he laughed, "Aren't you on a roll today? No, Abby, he's a little sick. Remember when you had a cold? You stayed in bed too."

"Oh…" She looked back to Balen and thought a moment. Then she reached over and patted him on the hand. "Feel better!"

"Thank you, little lady."

"Alright, here's what we'll do," Cullen said, putting Abby on his lap, "Take it easy this morning, come to the field after lunch. You can watch Abby while we work."

He nodded and gave a weak smile. Abby insisted on waving goodbye to everyone individually on their way out, but eventually they could leave and move on to the next stop for the morning.

They had around twenty people at a time residing with them who were trying to quit. On average they stayed for anywhere between a couple of weeks and a few months, depending on how long the process took. They'd discovered a number of factors, including duration of service, previous dosage, and the trauma each knight had suffered. Once they were well enough, many would return home to their families and take up positions as city guards or in private service. During their stay they helped work the farm — tending the land, fixing up buildings, taking care of livestock, and whatever else needed to get done. It had taken them a few years for the farm to become self-sufficient, but now it provided enough food for everyone and allowed them to trade the excess. Cullen was relieved at this development. In the beginning the Trevelyans had provided the financial support necessary to get their initiative off the ground. Though relationships with the family had improved, he was nonetheless happy not to be reliant on them anymore.

The next building they went to was similar to the first, except that here rooms were divided into smaller private ones. They were organised around a common room with comfy seats, bookcases and some musical instruments. Like in the dormitory, the residents were in various stages of getting ready for the day. Some shuffled about the living area, while others were still in their rooms. A few had already settled into the seats, unlikely to get up again until someone brought them back to bed in the evening. It varied from person to person how far the lyrium had already taken their minds, but few retained much clarity at all. The best they could offer was safety and comfort for their remaining days, which tended to be few in number.

Abby wiggled from his grasp and grabbed onto Rufus' collar. The pair targeted a man sitting closest to them, who perked up the moment they appeared. He raised a shaking hand to pet the grinning mabari on the head, his paper-like face wrinkled with a smile. Though he'd likely been a formidable fighter at some point, there was little left to show it. While he was still tall, he looked small sitting hunched over in his chair and his arms had grown so thin it didn't seem likely he could even lift a sword.

It wasn't always easy to come here, but seeing the joy they could still give the older folk made it worthwhile. Cullen sometimes wondered whether he had really managed to escape this fate himself, or if perhaps there was still some delayed effect waiting for him in the future. There was no evidence to suggest as much, but neither would there be any until they all got older themselves. Rather than dwelling on such thoughts, however, he focused on his daughter playing dead with the mabari, much to the delight of the old man in the chair.

"Mornin'." Rylen emerged from one of the rooms, leading a resident by the arm. He helped her sit in another chair, then came towards him.

"Good morning. How are things here?"

"Ser Caine is getting worse," he sighed, nodding to a room in the back, "Couple more days, I think."

"Is he calm?"

"Night terrors. Would be good if we could make him more comfortable."

"Elsa can come by this afternoon."

"Good," Rylen nodded, "I'll go get the next one, can you keep an eye on them for a bit?"

"Sure thing."

He disappeared into another room, while Cullen took Abby on a tour of the common area. Though the old templars were happy with anyone spending time with them, it was incredible how much they responded to her. She, in turn, loved all the attention and gave them quite a show. Today she seemed to have decided she was a dancer and she twirled around, her bright blond curls bouncing around her. It was clear what side of the family she'd gotten that flair for entertaining from — it wasn't his.

He helped Rylen out for the rest of the morning and soon it was midday. The chantry bell rang in the next village over, softly dinging across the tree tops. He took Abby by the hand and led her outside, walked over to the gate to get the mail, then took her inside the farmhouse for lunch. Just as he placed it in front of her, however, Rufus jumped up from his place by the door and started barking.

A group of horses came up the path, flanking a small carriage, and pulled to a halt in front of the house. Cullen smiled to himself and picked Abby up, who had run over to the door and joined Rufus in the ruckus he was making. The dog jumped ahead of them and ran towards the group, bouncing around happily as Elsa stepped down from the vehicle and tried to pet him.

"Hold still, buddy, or I can't reach you!"

"Mommy!"

"He'll calm down in a second," Cullen chuckled, handing Abby to her, "Hi there."

"Hi." She gave him a quick kiss, then turned to Abigail. "Hello, sweet. I think you've gotten a bit bigger since I left!"

"You too, Mommy."

"I know," Elsa laughed. "It's the baby, he's growing faster than you are."

"There's a baby in there?" the girl said in astonishment, staring down at her swollen belly. "In _there_?"

"Yes. Don't you remember? I told you before I left."

"Did you ate it?"

"No, dear, I did not eat it." She looked to him, shaking her head. "What do you teach her when I'm not around?"

"Ah, you know," he smirked, "I get confused on how these things work sometimes too."

"I think you were there as well when I supposedly ate this baby, ser knight."

"Aren't you coming in?" Cullen asked the Chargers, who had remained seated.

"Thanks for the offer, Cullen," Bull said, towering over them from his war horse, "but we're pressing on. Still want to cover a lot of road today."

"Say 'hi' to Dorian for us," Elsa told him. "Tell him to come down for a visit in… six or seven months, or so."

"You know he prefers to skip the phase where they just crap and sleep all day," the Qunari chuckled, "but I'll pass along the message."

The Chargers hollered their parting words and turned their horses around, while one of the hands came over to take the carriage to the stable. Elsa thanked him, then returned her attention to Abby, who had begun telling her all about what had happened in the couple of weeks she'd been away.

"How was it?" Cullen interjected.

"Daddy, I'm talking!"

"Tiring," Elsa sighed. "but we're moving ahead with the plans near Val Royeux."

"That's great!"

"Yeah, it is." She looked around the farm. "Happy to be home though."

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Their daughter made a disgusted face as he leaned in and kissed her, longer this time, letting his other hand rest on her belly.

"We're happy to have you back."

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

Over the following days she resumed her regular rhythm, slipping back into it like a comfortable pair of shoes. They woke early in the morning and started their days together. After breakfast Cullen would take to his duties around the grounds. He'd gotten behind on some tasks while she was away, taking care of Abby by himself and managing some of her duties as well. Now they were back to him handling the day-to-day with the residents and the farm work, while she managed the gardens, medicine and lyrium administration, and other organisational matters.

Elsa took Abby through some morning lessons, after which she let her rummage around her in the study. She sighed happily as she sipped from her tea, then took to taming the unruly pile of mail that had accumulated during her trip. Though it had only been a few weeks, it covered a large portion of the desk. She began to sort through it, dividing it into separate stacks. Most were related to her continued work with the Chantry, others to their business.

A sizeable portion was of a personal nature — letters from friends and family. She started with opening these, though the outside observer might conclude that they were the ones least urgent in requiring a response. Yet in addition to updating her on the lives of her contacts, more often than not there was a lot more in them to uncover. Coded messages like these were the only way in which the core members of the underground Inquisition communicated these days, whose efforts were now limited to tracking Solas' and Qunari activity.

Leliana wrote in from her house by the Waking Sea, hiding snippets of information between the lines of her generally positive message. She was still in contact with Harding and her other agents, all of whom had taken up strategic positions in various organisations. Unfortunately their findings remained vague and sparse — whatever Fen'Harel was doing, he was hiding it well.

She took the rest of the letters to her lazy chair in the corner of the room and curled up inside of it. Abby crawled into her lap soon after with a book of her own and they sat together, her cheek resting on top of her daughter's crown. Cassandra and Vivienne, whom she'd seen most recently, shared far more scandalous details and complaints when there wasn't anyone around to overhear them. Josephine wrote accounts of her days that read like an adventure novella, describing how she dealt with pirates trying to raid her trading fleet and the latest interest she'd received from suitors. Dorian's letters were more akin to crime novels, detailing backstabbing, intrigue and underhanded dealings, with an assassination sprinkled into the mix here and there. Despite the obvious danger, he reported on it all as if it were an everyday occurrence, something to distract from the mundane existence of a politician trying to make a change through endless negotiation and debate.

Her favourite letters remained Varric's. The envelope was thick and strangely heavy. She pulled out the pages, only for something to fall out from between them and bounce off the side of the chair. Abby jumped up to chase the golden coin, which glinted in the light as it rolled across the floor, and picked it up once it came to a stop.

"I got it, Mama."

"Thank you, dear. Can you give it here?"

She ran back to her and handed it over. It was a sovereign, nothing special about it except for the fact that it had been included at all. Elsa examined it closely to make sure there was no hidden meaning, but she couldn't identify one.

"Did you get money?"

"Uncle Varric sent some," she explained, shaking open the letter, "but I'm not sure why."

"To be nice?"

"Maybe," Elsa murmured, "Come back up here."

"No. I have some work to do."

Elsa lowered the letter again and stared after her daughter. Abby was moving towards the desk now and climbed onto the seat, where she began to move the other letters around to make new piles.

"You have some work to do?" Elsa asked, stifling a laugh.

"Yes. Lots to do," Abby said importantly. It was difficult to say whether she was mimicking herself or Cullen. "I am very busy."

"Of course, sweet. Don't let me distract you."

"Yes, you can be very loud."

She didn't know what had made her conclude that, but Elsa had grown accustomed to not digging too deeply in some of the thought patterns her daughter displayed. Most of the time, they were simply entertaining — it had been one of the most surprising and enjoyable aspects of watching her grow.

It had taken some time after they'd disbanded the Inquisition for her to entertain the thought of a family. They took several months to wrap up everything and make sure everyone had a place to go. Skyhold had become the headquarters for the new Templar Order, led by Barris. Some of their staff had therefore been able to remain, while the rest found other employment.

Cassandra had granted Cullen and her land for their new venture and they had parted with the others to leave for Ferelden. The next months were spent planning, fixing up old buildings, raising funds, and setting up the necessary infrastructure. Rylen and Nic had been with them from the start and soon they were joined by a number of templars wishing to follow in Cullen's footsteps. From there it had steadily grown and within a year they were running a stable enterprise.

It was at this point that Cullen had started mentioning the idea of a family more frequently. She'd wanted to, not in the least because she knew how much he wanted it and what a wonderful father he would undoubtedly be… but she'd been hesitant. The thought of bringing a child into the world, while she knew the threat hanging over it, was not an easy decision to make.

Yet once they did decide to go for it, she couldn't imagine ever having doubted her choice. Since the moment she could feel it, her life had revolved around the one growing inside of her and making sure that, whatever might happen, she would be happy and safe. If and when Solas would emerge from the shadows… having her child — and soon the second — only made her determined to fight him all the harder. Her mother had not been wrong that she could not fully understand her until she had a child of her own… It didn't change that she tried hard not to turn into her in any other respect.

While Abby continued her very busy and important work of disorganising the structured piles, Elsa returned her attention to Varric's letter. Of all the people from the Inquisition, they still wrote each other most often and never seemed to run out of things to say. She could have the most normal day, pottering about in peaceful bliss with Abby, and still find things to tell him about. Likewise, his stories easily switched from matters of the Viscount's office, to gossip and anecdotes from the Marches, to what the Hanged Man had served for dinner that night. At times he would include chapters from his new books, which she then sent back with annotations and remarks.

This letter was no different and made her laugh a number of times, at which Abby shushed her. Mystery solved — that was where she'd got it from then. Elsa continued to read in silence, smiling to herself instead, until she reached the end.

He'd included a postscript. This in itself wasn't unique. He did so often enough, as he usually forgot to mention something — despite the length of his letters — or something had happened that he wanted to share in between finishing the letter and sending it off. This one, however, made little sense. She read it again, then looked at the coin, not comprehending what either of them meant.

She shrugged it off for the moment, placed the letter and gold piece in her pocket, and got up. Abby followed along, quite satisfied with the work she'd accomplished, and they went into the garden, where they tended the deep shrooms growing in the shade of the orchard.

Abby ran around, playing out her various adventures and asking questions, while Elsa pulled weeds and harvested the spores that were ready.

"Mommy, I need a dragon!"

"A dragon?"

"Yes." She pointed at her wooden duck sitting underneath one of the trees. "To save the people."

"It does seem like the people are fine right now, Abby," Elsa teased her, "At least until you set a dragon upon them."

"Mommy!" she huffed, "Just make me a dragon!"

Elsa supposed she'd heard too many stories of her parents for this not to have turned into one of her favourite topics. The nuance had gotten lost a bit, making it seem as if the Inquisition had been solely dedicated to hunting down every dragon in existence, but the gist had been preserved. Elsa brushed the dirt off her hand and flexed her fingers, preparing for the spell.

"Alright, but you have to be careful," she warned her. "Dragons are dangerous. Only touch with your sword."

Abigail stood at the ready to defend her wooden duck, brandishing a long stick, and nodded in agreement.

"Let me hear you say it."

"Only with my sword. I promise."

"Alright… get ready."

The shape appeared above her palm, a small ball of fire hovering in the air. Wings unfolded from the flames and a head formed with fiery eyes. It wasn't a dragon exactly, but it came close enough for Abigail. It took flight, following the motion of her finger as she directed it to soar between the trees.

Abigail chased after it, laughing brightly, while Elsa took care to keep it out of her reach and far away from anything flammable. Eventually she allowed it to dip low enough for the girl to swipe at it with her stick and closed her hand, making the flames dissipate in a small burst.

"I got him!"

"Well done!" She got to her feet and held out her hand. "Come on, let's go find Daddy."

Cullen had been working the field for the past days, fixing up and adding new fencing to split it into paddocks for the sheep. She sat down in the grass near the edge and watched him direct a group of their lodgers. The setting sun cast a warm glow over the grass and shone on his bronzed skin. His shirt had soaked through over the course of the day and showed off his shapes underneath. He straightened up and stretched his back, laughing at something someone had said, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

Elsa sighed contently and couldn't help but smile. Ever since they started here, he'd had an energy and enthusiasm for their work that was infectious. Long past were his days of being weighed down with paperwork and meetings — tasks she had taken on willingly as they cost her far less effort. Instead he was constantly on the move, working on construction, managing activities, supporting new arrivals… He'd been motivated in the Inquisition, but she'd never seen him in his element as often as she did these days.

Rufus barked, announcing Abby running towards him. Cullen caught her and spun her overhead, then rested her on his hip. He gave some final instructions to the people around him. They dropped their tools and raised their hands in parting, while he walked towards her instead.

He sat beside her and put Abby down, who immediately ran off with the mabari.

"Hey you."

"Hey. How was your day?"

"Good," he nodded, "We'll be done soon. Yours?"

"It was nice. We set a dragon upon Duck and then defeated it."

"Of course," he laughed, "She missed being able to do that while you were away."

She smiled, picturing how they'd been together without her. It was difficult to leave when she needed to travel for meetings, but knowing how good he was with her made it decidedly easier.

"I love you."

He blinked in surprise, then wrapped his arm around her and leaned in. No matter how busy he was, running around with a million things in his head, he always took his time when he kissed her. She loved him for that as well.

"I love you too," he said quietly, brushing his nose against hers.

They sat together and watched the sunset, while their daughter ran through the grass with Rufus on her heels. Cullen's hand gently rubbed what was left of her arm, warming her against the evening chill settling in. His other came to rest on her belly, warding its inhabitant from harm.

"My furnace," she murmured and kissed him on the cheek.

A mischievous shine sparked in his eyes. "Not your beast of burden today?"

"You do smell a little oxen…" Elsa snuggled into his neck and breathed in deeply. It was amazing on a normal day… how was it possible that working in the sun all afternoon only made it better? "No reason you can't be both."

"Anything interesting in the mail?"

"The usual… Oh! Maker, I can't believe I almost forgot…" She pulled out the letter. "Varric is coming for a visit."

A wide smile spread across his face. "Is he? When?"

"Let me see… He included this for you, by the way."

She handed him the gold coin. Cullen stared at it, brow furrowed in confusion. "Why?"

Elsa unfolded the letter and flipped through the pages until she reached the end.

"He's not very concise, is he?"

"Not really his style," she chuckled. "In his defence, he does always have a lot to say — he doesn't ramble." She let her finger trail down the page, then stopped at the end. "So, he talks about visiting in a month, then… yada yada… Love, Varric. P.S., I owe Curly the sovereign from a bet we made back in Orlais. Please pass it along and tell him that only Fereldan beer was deemed acceptable for the occasion. Kindly prepare some for when we come over. Shouldn't be too hard, right? I've been instructed a 'fuck-ton' will suffice."

She looked to Cullen, who stared at the letter in her hand, then at the coin. His mouth opened briefly and closed again, before he asked, "Can I see that?"

"Sure." She handed him the papers and he read the last part, then quickly began to skim the entire thing. "Do you know who he means by 'we'?" she asked. "He doesn't specify it anywhere. I wondered if he's just joking about the crossbow, but —"

She paused when Cullen reached the end of the letter again, gawked at it… and laughed.

Though it surfaced more often these days, his open laughter remained a rare treat. Since Abby was born it could be observed with increasing frequency, whenever she did something silly, surprising, or endearing. Yet even then its appearances were relatively sparse in comparison to his gentle smiles, low chuckles, and sarcastic smirks.

Elsa watched him, a little confused, as he held the letter and coin in his hands. He sat hunched over, a deep rumble flowing uncontrollably from his core — joyful in a way reserved for only the most special of occasions and without any apparent intention of stopping. Tears formed in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He wiped them away with the edge of his finger, while he braced himself against his knees. How in the Void the cryptic message could inspire such a response was beyond her, but she could only laugh along with him as her heart flared with a sudden burst of affection. His unbridled cheer almost seemed to draw the sinking sun back from behind the horizon, brightening everything around him.

"What?" she giggled, tugging on his arm. "What is it?"

He quieted, hiccuping lightly as he tried to stifle the remainder of his outburst. With a deep sigh he steadied himself and looked at her, his beaming smile pulling on his scar and shining in his amber eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. It seemed impossible for him to be anything but attractive, but like this he was downright beautiful.

"Hawke."

A single word, simple yet infinitely complex, its sudden presence as surprising as the pride with which he spoke it. It sounded bizarre to her, like a phrase in a foreign tongue, alien without the tinge of guilt that had tinted it for the past years. Elsa stared at him as the name floated in her head, not finding a place to settle on within the cloud of incomprehension.

Cullen laughed again, this time at her expression of complete bewilderment. He kissed her, as enthusiastically as he had on their wedding day, holding her face in both hands. Silent tears were rolling down her cheeks when he pulled back. He kissed those away as well, his scruff tickling her skin.

"I don't understand," she whispered, her voice sticking in her throat. "She — is she…?"

Varric's letter crinkled happily behind her back when he wrapped her in a hug. Her mana rose in a brilliant flash at his answer, spreading its wings and throwing open the final door. She grabbed on to his shirt and buried her face in his neck, a quivering laugh shaking loose the years-old regret nestled in her chest. The flames filled the void and lit up the darkness, burning away the shadows of the past and kindling the promises of tomorrow.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. If you have a moment, I hope you'll leave a review to let me know your thoughts!**


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